Initial commit

author: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-02-08 09:15:21 -0800
committer: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-02-08 09:15:21 -0800
commit: 13380a646cde7483726b569724e9670ebdcee3a9 (patch)
tree: a8c5440b6d42ac22307dd85a1c381f865d3a35f5
66 files changed, 23942 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/57794-0.txt b/57794-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2a86955
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,8384 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI, September
+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/license
+
+
+Title: Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI, September 1899
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: August 28, 2018 [EBook #57794]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 1899 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+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: VENETIAN GIRL.
+   Painted by George Butler.]
+
+
+
+
+     SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE
+
+     VOL. XXVI      SEPTEMBER, 1899      NO. 3
+
+
+
+
+     Copyright 1899, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved.
+
+
+
+
+WHERE THE WATER RUNS BOTH WAYS
+
+By Frederic Irland
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
+
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+The greatest glory of Canada is not its modern progress, but its
+vast and ancient wilderness. If you weary of the sameness and
+unprofitableness of every thing you know, go where I went last year, to
+the upper waters of the Ottawa, where the beaver is the master architect
+and the moose is king of the woods. See for yourself, as I saw, that
+the Ottawa and the Gatineau, appearing to come from widely distant
+regions, have their origin close together and are twins. Behold these
+two children of the lakes, nourished from the same generous breast.
+Trace their courses, and see that, though journeying far, in widely
+different directions, they finally arrive at a common destination.
+
+Nobody knows all about that head-water country around the sources of
+the Ottawa. It is a prolific game region, where sportsmen rarely go,
+for the simple reason that they can get all the hunting they want nearer
+to the railroad. There are plenty of deer close to almost any Canadian
+Pacific station west of Pembroke, and it is not much trouble to get a
+chance at a moose in two days from Deux Rivières, Rockliffe, or Mattawa.
+Not many hunting parties start from there either, and I suppose the
+reason is that for thousands of miles to the west the woods, prairies,
+and mountains lie close to the railroad and afford almost limitless
+opportunities.
+
+The territory enclosed by the Ottawa and the Gatineau has been, from
+immemorial times, the home of the Algonquin Indians, and they still
+remain there, in such primitive innocence that they receive no annuity
+from the Dominion Government. In this they are unlike the Indians of
+the United States or their brother tribes of Canada.
+
+The map which accompanies this article is reproduced from the latest
+Crown Land Office charts of the Upper Ottawa River. Hundreds of lakes,
+some of them many miles in extent, are unmarked, because they have
+never been surveyed. But a glance at the map will give some idea of
+the flood which is poured out at the feet of Canada's stately capital.
+As a canoeing country I believe the Ottawa valley to be unequalled
+anywhere in the world. The dotted line on the map shows the course of a
+lazy autumn trip which I took around the borders of the great interior
+island, formed by the streams which fall from a common birthplace in
+the Kakebonga region and reunite in front of the city of Ottawa.
+
+The _coureurs du bois_ of the old _régime_ have passed away, but the
+song of their beloved wilderness is as sweet to-day as when they found
+it irresistible.
+
+At Mattawa I procured the supplies which are necessary for a canoe
+trip in the woods, and the branch railroad took me to the shore of Lake
+Kippewa. Then a lumber company's steamer carried me to Hunter's Point,
+the farthest settlement, eighty-five miles north of Mattawa. From there
+it was all canoe and portage. Nowhere was there a carry more than a
+mile long, and generally the distance was only a few hundred yards from
+one lake to another, or around a rapid. The rivers form a continuous
+waterway, but we made many short cuts. In five hundred miles of canoeing
+there were, perhaps, twenty miles of carrying, all told.
+
+Mr. Isaac Hunter, the postmaster at Hunter's Point, has his office in
+the front room of his house or else in his coat-pocket. He has a large,
+well-cleared farm, where his father lived before him, and he sells hay
+to the lumbermen at fifty dollars a ton. Plenty of people in the United
+States might well want to be in his place. Yet the farm he lives on has
+no legal status. It has never been surveyed, and the Crown Land Office
+has no official knowledge of it. So he pays no taxes and he never cast
+a vote in his life.
+
+When I got to Mr. Hunter's I was at the end of civilization. Beyond
+his house there were no roads except the water-ways, and the journey I
+wished to make through the wilderness was several hundred miles long.
+But I felt as sure of the way as though I had been there before. There
+are no maps which are of any use at all. Not one of them shows more than
+half of the lakes which form the easy road we travelled.
+
+I told Mr. Hunter where I wanted to go. He said: "Well, my
+brother-in-law, Joe Decountie, knows the way to Ross Lake, about half
+way to the Grand Lake Victoria. Mr. Christopherson, the Hudson's Bay
+agent at Grand Lake, will be back here soon. If you want to go with Joe
+and bring back a moose by Saturday, you'll find Mr. Christopherson here
+then, and he can tell you how to go the rest of the way. You'll need
+a canoe. They sell pretty high this year. You can have that one out by
+the water for six dollars."
+
+  [Illustration: Valley of the Upper Ottawa.
+
+The finest canoeing country in the world. Mr. Irland's route indicated
+by the dotted line. There are watercourses even in the places where, on
+the official map, the line seems to cross dry land.]
+
+Joe was young and big. He lived across the bay from his brother-in-law.
+He and the rest of the twenty or thirty other people around Hunter's
+Point speak Algonquin and French and very fair English, and their names
+show that those early adventurers from Europe, two hundred years ago
+and later, had no violent race prejudices. The more I have seen of the
+half-bloods of Canada, the more I have come to admire them. They are
+of fearless stock, and have inherited many good traits from both races.
+They regard with amusement and pity their half-brothers, the full-blood
+Algonquins of the remote forest, but they understand the arts of
+wood-lore which make life more than endurable there. They have French,
+English, Scotch, and Scandinavian family names, and any one who thinks
+they lead an uncomfortable life is very much mistaken.
+
+  [Illustration: Lower Chute of the Grand Calumet Fall.]
+
+A good deal has been written lately about the hardships and dangers of
+camp life. For years I have spent a considerable time each season in
+the woods, sometimes depending for days on the resources of the country,
+and I can truthfully say I never had one uncomfortable hour there.
+
+"Where shall we go after a moose, Joe?" I asked.
+
+Joe said: "Well, it's bes' to go where we sure to find 'em. Dese fellers
+aroun' here don't like de place where I go, because it takes most all
+day to get dere. But I never failed yet to see moose." So we threw our
+luggage into the canoe, and departed, in a gentle rain-storm.
+
+It was nearly a year since I had had a paddle in my hand, but it was
+only a short distance between portages. I know of no form of severe
+muscular exertion which is so little irksome as paddling a canoe. Rowing
+is galley-slavery in comparison. With the paddle there are not less than
+three variations of position on each side, which bring new muscles into
+play and relieve the weary ones; and a shift from one hand to the other
+is a complete rest. So it was not long, during the succeeding month of
+canoeing, before I came, at daylight, to look forward to a long day's
+paddling with positive delight.
+
+If any one wishes to know just where we went on that little side issue
+of a moose hunt let him get a good map of the Kippewa region, and locate
+the space between Lake Ostoboining and Hay Bay. It is a blank space on
+a Crown Land Office map, but there are at least fifty small lakes in
+it. It took six hours' canoeing and carrying, from Mr. Hunter's house,
+till we came to the lake Joe had chosen.
+
+That moose hunt was too easy. We got to the lake, put up the tent,
+chopped some wood, and just at dusk, when Joe was baking biscuits in
+the frying-pan, suddenly he set the pan down and made a rush for the
+canoe. At the same moment I saw a big bull moose wading out of his
+depth, from the opposite shore, into the deep water, about the length
+of a city block from the tent. He did not see us at all, and went right
+on, swimming leisurely across. The lake was narrow, and the moose did
+not hurry. His broad yellow antlers were so heavy that he barely kept
+his nose above the water. It was a great sight to see the ripple spread
+in a diagonal behind him, while Joe urged the little canoe right up
+close astern. What a pity it was too dark for the camera! When he was
+forty rods from shore and we were close to him, Joe asked, loudly and
+pleasantly, "Jack, where you goin' to-day?" Jack turned his big head,
+and the expression in his ox-like eye was that of pained surprise. He
+began to swim so hard that he half climbed out of the water.
+
+  [Illustration: On Lake Kippewa.]
+
+"Let's head him off," said Joe. So we made a respectful circle around
+the moose, and he ported his helm and turned back toward the place
+whence he came.
+
+"Drive him to the tent," I suggested; and we did the meanest thing I
+ever saw done on a moose hunt. We kept between him and where he wanted
+to go, and actually made him carry himself to shore close to the tent,
+before I turned the express bullet loose. It was all done so quickly
+that the biscuits did not burn.
+
+"Now, we worked ourselves out of business, didn't we?" commented
+Joe, by the fire-light, after we had completed certain anatomical
+dismemberments, the result of which would have astonished the moose very
+greatly if he could have seen himself hung up. "My pore leetle cousins
+ain't got no fresh meat," continued Joe, relapsing from the severely
+studied English with which he had previously addressed me. "It's 'bout
+twelve mile straight so, to de house. How you t'ink if I bring my
+cousins to-morrow to take out de moose?"
+
+I thought that was a very good idea, so the next day Joe left me and
+walked through the woods to Hunter's Point, to bring his relatives. In
+the afternoon it rained, so Joe and his cousins did not appear, and I
+had the blankets to myself that night.
+
+The Hudson's Bay Company supply a tent which can be closed up tightly.
+This is good in mosquito time, but in the fall there is nothing so fine
+as a plain shed tent, open in front. The heat from the fire is reflected
+down from the slanting roof, and you can keep warm and dry in the
+coldest rain that ever fell, especially if you have a light fly spread
+above the tent. I had brought along a tent of this pattern, and was as
+comfortable as any king that night, though the nearest human being was
+twelve miles or so away. The rain made the fire burn more brightly than
+usual, by knocking the film of ashes from the logs.
+
+The next morning I was awakened by my old friends, the moose-birds.
+A pair of them were trying to carry off the moose meat, all at one
+mouthful, and at the same time fighting away a third bird which sneaked
+in between their trips to their place of storage. The moose-bird takes
+life very seriously, and his sole business is stealing everything he
+can stick his bill into. Unless he is very often disturbed he is without
+fear, and will readily alight on a stick held in your hand, if you put
+a piece of meat on the end of the stick. I have often photographed the
+bird at a distance of three or four feet.
+
+About two o'clock that afternoon Joe and his friends appeared on the
+scene, with another canoe; and they carried the moose home in sections.
+
+The next day was so warm and bright that we took the canoe and went
+on a long observation tour. Joe made a big circuit, from lake to lake
+and pond to pond. One of the geographical peculiarities of the country
+is that you can go by water in any direction you choose, with short
+portages. Between almost any two ridges you will find a lake or two.
+
+  [Illustration: Cow Moose in Thick Timber.]
+
+In many places we saw where, earlier in the season, the moose had been
+eating the water-lilies. The remnants of the roots, as thick as a man's
+wrist, were floating on the surface by the score.
+
+About four o'clock in the afternoon, when we were on the return to our
+tent, and paddling along very quietly, we heard a stick break close by
+the edge of the water. Looking sharply into the thick brush I caught
+sight of a cow moose, with two calves, in the woods about twenty
+feet back from the shore. We kept very quiet, hoping they would come
+out where they could be photographed. But soon the cow's great ears
+straightened out in our direction, the calves backed around behind their
+mamma, and in an instant they had begun a noiseless flight.
+
+  [Illustration: Hudson's Bay Post at the Grand Lake Victoria.]
+
+It was dusk by the time we reached our own lake, and there was a faint
+moon. All through the day we had traversed about as fine a moose country
+as one could find. Every lake had its well-defined path around the
+shore, just along the edge of the bushes.
+
+  [Illustration: A Portage.]
+
+At the head of our lake, about a mile from the tent, we stopped and
+ran the canoe ashore. Joe grunted hoarsely, and splashed the water
+with his paddle, and, sooner than it takes to tell this, we heard, not
+two hundred yards away, the most impressive sound that ever comes to
+a sportsman's ears, the ripping, tearing noise made by a bull moose,
+hooking the trees right and left out of sheer joy and pride in his
+strength. He tore down a few cords of saplings, judging by the racket,
+and then came out, "oofing" at every step, circling around us. In the
+gathering dusk we saw his great black shape for a moment as he crossed
+the little stream in which the canoe was hidden. That was the time to
+have fired, if I had wanted him very badly, but Joe, whose wealth of
+luck had made him over-bold, whispered, "I bring him close," and emitted
+a loud roar, very like the squeal of a horse, and the moose never
+stopped to take one more look. He simply wheeled around behind the fir
+thicket where he was concealed, and, with a few characteristic remarks
+in his own language, expressive of disdain and opprobrium, made a hasty
+departure for a distant section of the country. He acted as though he
+recognized Joe's voice. "Well, we fright him good, anyway," said Joe.
+
+There was only one other place on our whole subsequent trip where the
+moose seemed to be so plentiful as right here, close to Lake Kippewa.
+We had one moose, and had seen that there were plenty more. The Quebec
+law allows only two in a season, to one man.
+
+I wished to see more of the Kippewa country before going north; so
+we went back to Mr. Hunter's the next morning, and there met Mr.
+Christopherson, on his way back to the Grand Lake Victoria, and with him
+an Indian named Jocko, one of the "Grand Lakers," as Joe called them.
+Jocko was a thick-set, open-faced barbarian who smiled at the slightest
+excuse, and who was so pleasant and bright that I am going hunting
+with him some day if I can. Mr. Christopherson said there would be no
+trouble in finding our way to the Grand Lake Victoria, as there was a
+plain trail from Ross Lake, where Joe had been, to Trout Lake, and that
+on this latter sheet of water were two or three families of Indians who
+traded at the Grand Lake Victoria, any one of whom could be induced,
+for a dollar a day, to show us the way.
+
+Joe and I spent another week camping about Kippewa Lake, getting used
+to each other's paddling, before we started on our northern journey.
+
+It was at this stage of the proceedings that Joe modestly suggested
+that he had a little nephew, Billy Paulson, thirteen years old, who
+could do a good deal around camp, and that he would like to take him
+with us. So Billy went and was happy. He was a versatile little boy.
+He could read, which Joe could not do, and he spoke English without
+much accent. I shall not soon forget my amazement when he began, soon
+after our introduction, to whistle, in good tune, Sousa's "Washington
+Post" march. How it had reached that far corner of the earth I do not
+know, and neither did he; but he had it, and with "Her Golden Hair was
+Hanging down Her Back," as an occasional interlude, he made distant
+lakes melodious during the succeeding days.
+
+  [Illustration: The Old Dam at Barrière Lake.]
+
+The next day we took another side trip, to the east end of Lake Kippewa.
+Joe had been telling of a wonderful trout lake, away up the mountain,
+and we went to see it. There we found one of Billy's relatives, Johnnie
+Puryea, and two squaws, catching a winter's supply of trout. They had
+been there about a week, and had more than three hundred beautiful
+fish hung up on a frame over a slow, smoky fire. While we partook of
+Johnnie's trout, such a violent thunder-shower came up, with heavy
+wind, that we stayed late. It was almost as dark as it could be when we
+started back over the mile portage to the big lake. There was no good
+trail, only a few trees being "spotted," and the side of the mountain
+was furrowed with countless ravines, at the bottom of some one of which
+lay our canoe. We could not see the trail at all, but kept going down
+hill, and feeling of every tree we came to for the axe-spots. I suppose
+we were about two hours making that mile, and I vividly appreciated
+the force of the expression "feeling one's way." When we finally found
+the canoe, and the moon came out from under the clouds, the smooth lake
+seemed, after the storm, to be an old friend.
+
+  [Illustration: Heavy Swells.]
+
+The next morning we paddled along the shores of the deep indenting bays
+for miles, looking for moose tracks. At one place a whole family, big
+and little, had left fresh hoof-prints in the mud, and Joe followed them
+to see where they went, while Billy and I trolled, and caught as many
+walleyed pike and pickerel as we pleased.
+
+All along the shores of the lake, at conspicuous points, the
+bush-rangers, or fire police, had posted printed warnings against
+leaving fires in the woods. It is a misdemeanor there to leave
+a smouldering fire. He who starts a blaze must see that it is
+extinguished.
+
+  [Illustration: "Jocko"—a Typical Algonquin.]
+
+Joe showed us a place where he and a companion were watching for moose
+last year. "De moose come out. I shoot. De ca'tridge bu'st, and mos'
+blind me. I listen for my chum to shoot, but he no shoot. I look 'round,
+and my chum run away. So we no get dat moose."
+
+There are many men who do not seem to be able to face a moose, but the
+animal cannot do anything to a man with a heavy rifle, who uses it.
+
+My note-book is full of Joe's moose stories. Here is one that shows how
+common the animals are at Kippewa. "Las' year anoder lad and me, we took
+a big head out to de station to sell. A man offer us five dollar for it.
+At las' we sell it for six. De trouble was, 'noder feller sell a moose,
+de head, skin, meat, and all, de week before, for five dollar. I swore
+I never help take out no more heads twenty-five mile for t'ree dollar
+my share, and me kill de moose, too!"
+
+The shores of Lake Kippewa are high hard-wood ridges, and one can see
+a long way through the trees, as there is not much undergrowth. It is
+an ideal place to hunt. As late as October 14th it was rather warm for
+a night fire in front of the tent.
+
+Every red and golden leaf as it fell at our feet bore to us the same
+message. The Indian summer was upon us, and it was time to be going
+northward. So we gathered our simple belongings together, and started
+on our swing around the wilderness circle, to find where the two rivers
+run from the same lake, to behold the mountain home of the twins.
+
+There is joy in the mere fact of following unmapped water-ways. No
+matter if you mistake your course, you can, at least, come back by the
+same way you go. The river will run just as it has run during all the
+centuries while you were neglecting it, and the lake will stay where
+it has waited for you these countless years. The land-marks will not
+fade away. Few, indeed, have been the kings of earth who ever felt as
+jaunty and independent as the one white man and two half-breeds who left
+Hunter's Point for the far Upper Ottawa, on the 16th of October, last
+year. No matter what happened to other people, we were secure; and the
+farther away we got, the better pleased we were.
+
+Half a day of steady paddling through the Birch Lakes took us past
+shores where the standing pine has never been disturbed by the
+lumbermen. There are in these vast forests thousands of miles of country
+which have never yet been decimated.
+
+  [Illustration: Against the Current.]
+
+The farther end of Big Birch Lake was the best we could do the first
+day, and we camped at the foot of a portage as well cleared as a country
+road, which has been in use by the Indians for a hundred years, and
+probably much longer. Joe here rebelled against any elaborate tenting
+arrangements for travellers. He cut three long poles, stuck them in the
+ground slanting, and threw the tent over them. In truth this did just
+as well, when the wind did not blow, as anything else.
+
+A half-mile climb the next morning brought us to the top of a long hill;
+and right at the very top, where a hundred dollars' worth of blasting
+would let it run down into Birch Lake, stretched away Lake Sissaginega,
+or "Island Lake," appropriately named, for there are about five hundred
+islands in it.
+
+  [Illustration: Beaver-house.]
+
+Joe produced a couple of short oars from the bottom of the canoe, and
+nailed a pair of rude rowlocks onto the gunwales. He explained that on
+the long, wind-swept lakes which we should have to traverse, a pair
+of oars were superior to two paddles against a head wind. It was a
+wonderful thing, but during hundreds of miles of lake travel after that
+we never once had a serious delay from weather. Nearly every morning
+the wind rose briskly with the sun, blew during the middle of the day,
+and moderated toward evening; so we pursued the ancient Indian custom
+of starting very early in the morning, before the wind came up; took a
+good rest in the middle of the day, and continued as late as we could in
+the evening. But not once on all our prosperous journey were we really
+wind-bound, though this is one of the most common of occurrences on
+these lakes, where the wind often piles the swells up so high that not
+even a birch-bark can weather them.
+
+The height of the wave which this marvellous little evolution of the
+ages can stand is not conceivable till you have witnessed it. Running
+with a heavy, fair wind, the swells rise behind you and seem about
+to engulf you. But in some way the canoe rises with the wave, and the
+boiling, foaming mass rushes harmlessly by, while you sit on the dry,
+clean bottom, and your pride increases with each successive triumph.
+
+A very long lake next north of Sissaginega is Cacaskanan, not shown
+at all on the maps. On this lake, about eleven o'clock the second day
+out, while Joe was rowing, and merely casting an occasional perfunctory
+glance over his left shoulder, he suddenly hissed, "See de moose!" We
+were at least a mile from shore, and though I have seldom met any one,
+civilized or savage, who could beat me at seeing game, I took off my hat
+to Joe from then on. Sure enough, over Joe's left shoulder he had seen a
+cow moose in the edge of the timber on shore. A projecting point allowed
+us to get pretty close to the animal. The wind was partly off shore, and
+all the time we were approaching we could see her watching the shore,
+starting at every sound made by the wind among the dead tree-trunks,
+but paying no attention to the water side at all. This enabled us,
+considering the difficulty of navigating among fallen tree-trunks, to
+make one of the most remarkable photographs I have ever taken. We got to
+the very shore, and crept within thirty-five feet of that moose. I made
+my exposure of the negative before she saw us at all. This photograph
+will give a better idea than could ever be conveyed in words, of the
+tremendous difficulty of still-hunting the moose in thick, dry timber,
+where the crackling of a twig will spoil the best-made stalk.
+
+That photograph was more satisfactory to me than the shooting of fifty
+moose would have been. The moose does not show to the best advantage in
+the picture, but that was her fault, and not ours. At the click of the
+shutter she went to find the rest of her folks.
+
+Late that afternoon we came to a place where Lake Cacaskanan narrows to
+about one hundred yards wide, and here there were many moose tracks.
+Just beyond, we met a family of the Indians who had killed two moose
+that very day, and had more than a hundred musquash freshly skinned.
+Billy was wonderfully impressed by the dirty, unkempt appearance of
+the little children, whose shocks of matted hair he unconsciously
+Kiplingized by referring to them afterward as "haystacks." The Indian
+who was the head of this family, on being told by Joe where we were
+going, said that we would walk on the ice before we got back. I fear he
+was a sluggard, who saw lions or bears in the path of every enterprise.
+He was burning logs twenty feet long, to save the trouble of cutting
+them in two, and so he had fire enough for four tents, instead of one.
+
+  [Illustration: The Moose-bird.]
+
+Monday morning, October 18th, we had breakfast by starlight. Venus and
+Jupiter were two particularly bright morning stars. Billy looked long
+at the waning planets and remarked, in an awe-struck tone, "My, but they
+must be high up!"
+
+  [Illustration: A Beaver Dam.]
+
+That day we reached Ross Lake, where there is a lumberman's supply
+depot for operations over on the main Ottawa, in the direction of
+Lake Expanse. We had no occasion to stop there, and all the afternoon
+followed the directions we had received from Mr. Christopherson,
+pursuing the Hudson's Bay Company trail through some small beaver ponds,
+till we reached Trout Lake, a beautiful sheet of water about fifteen
+miles long, where we expected to find an Indian to guide us to the Grand
+Lake Victoria.
+
+We found the summer camp all right, where the Indians had a
+potato-patch, which they had not dug, so Joe said they had not left for
+the winter; but not a smoke or sign of life could we find. We explored
+the lake, finding abundant moose signs and trolled for salmon trout,
+which at this time were up near the surface. One we caught was the
+largest I ever saw. We had no means of determining its weight, but when
+placed in the centre of the canoe, crosswise, on the bottom, its nose
+protruded over one gunwale and its tail above the other.
+
+On the morning of our third day on the lake we heard a dog bark, and
+found the Indians encamped on a secluded island. The wretches had
+seen us the first day, but, fearing we were game wardens or other
+evil-disposed persons, had kept out of our way. Joe said the Indians
+up there had a reputation for hiding from passers-by. After we had met
+them and given evidence of good intentions, they were sociable enough.
+While we were inviting the Indians to pass judgment on the contents of
+a certain jug, an extremely large domestic cat belonging to them ate
+much of the moose meat in our canoe. Nearly every Indian camp in these
+woods has at least one cat, to keep the moose-birds and wood-mice in
+subjugation, and the cats, being hard to get, are highly prized.
+
+  [Illustration: On Lake Kakebonga.]
+
+We soon made a bargain with Kakwanee, a young Indian just married and
+needing money, to show us the way to the Hudson's Bay post on the Grand
+Lake Victoria. Without knowing it, all the time we had been on Trout
+Lake we were quite near a crew of lumbermen who were building a dam at
+the outlet, to raise the water for a reserve supply, to be used, when
+needed, to drive logs down the Ottawa, the water running out through
+Lake Expanse. The intention was to raise the water six feet; and as
+there are at least seventy-five square miles of water in Trout Lake,
+it will be seen that a large reservoir would be produced by closing the
+outlet, perhaps fifty feet wide. The Indians were doing a good deal of
+laughing among themselves, as they said there was a marsh on the other
+side of the lake, where, unless another very long dam was built, the
+water would run off in the direction of Lake Kippewa as soon as it was
+raised a foot or so; and the lumbermen did not know this.
+
+In the evening while we were camped, waiting for Kakwanee to bid
+farewell to his bride, Billy heard a trout splash the water. He at
+once got some birch-bark and placed it in the cleft of a split stick,
+warming it by the fire to make it curl up, and then lighting it on the
+edge. In this way he made a torch which burned brightly for a long time.
+Getting into the canoe he pushed silently out, standing up. Letting the
+light shine into the clear water, he soon located the big trout, which
+lay quietly on the bottom in the full blaze of light. Then he made the
+motions of spearing, though he had no spear; and there was no doubt,
+from the realism of the pantomime, that Billy, child as he was, well
+knew a very unsportsmanlike way to kill fish. It was a beautiful sight
+to see Billy stand up in a very tottlish birch-bark canoe, as confident
+as a bare-back rider on a circus horse.
+
+  [Illustration: The "Mountain Chute," Gatineau River.]
+
+Joe had done some work as a "shanty-man," and the sight of the crew who
+were building the dam made him reminiscent. "One time," said he, "I do
+de chainin' for a gang; dat is, fasten de logs wid de chain, and bind
+em fas'. My chum, he was French, and he drive de sled. He was goin' for
+git marry so soon it was time for de camp to break up, an' he was sing
+an' smile to hisself de whole time. De ver' las' day, de las' load, he
+say, 'Now, Joe, dis load be de las' I ever drive fore I go home to my
+Julie.' So he start de sled, an' de sled hit a dead birch. When I come
+'long behine him, dere he was dead. A limb break off de birch when de
+sled strike it. It was all rotten, an' de piece of de limb not so big
+as your arm. But de limb was freeze, an' it hit him on de head, an' he
+never move. He go home to Julie, sure, but not de way he expec'."
+
+"My," said Billy, solemnly, "it must be awful for a man's peoples when
+he go 'way from home feelin' good, and laugh and sing, and, the next
+thing his peoples know, he come home dead!"
+
+The next morning Kakwanee appeared and we resumed our interrupted
+journey, running all day through two lakes, neither of which has ever
+appeared on any map of Quebec. It seems wonderful that after white
+men have used watercourses for canoe routes for a century or two, and
+when lumbermen have investigated the country, there are stretches of
+many miles together which are not indicated on official maps except by
+white spots. But this is true of over half a million square miles of
+British-American territory. The two lakes we traversed are called by
+Indian names which mean "Crosswise Lake" and "Old Man Lake." Out of the
+latter runs a river which falls into the Grand Lake Victoria. This lake
+is really an expansion of the Ottawa. In many places its shores are
+covered with medium-sized pines, and in others bare rocks are the only
+things to be seen. The greatest enemy to these forests is fire, and in
+all parts of the country are vast tracts which have been so devastated.
+
+It was a long day's paddle from the lower end of the Grand Lake Victoria
+to the old Hudson's Bay agency near its northern extremity. Here Mr.
+Christopherson received us with great hospitality. He said I was the
+fourth white man who had visited the post that year. The Indians who
+came there to get their annual supplies, material and spiritual, had
+long since left their little summer cabins for winter hunting-grounds.
+Though the sun shone warm and bright, it might turn cold any night now,
+and so Mr. Christopherson sent Jocko to show us the portages as far as
+an Indian village, twenty-seven miles up the river. There we could get
+a guide to see us through to the place where the water runs the other
+way. Jocko, himself, wanted to go away hunting, so he only accompanied
+us as far as the Indian settlement.
+
+  [Illustration: A "Chute" on the Gatineau.]
+
+This procuring of guides through an unknown country, on the instalment
+plan, was very fascinating to me, and it illustrated a characteristic
+of the northern forest Indian which is universal. The red man of the
+prairies was a nomad, but the son of the woods does not make very long
+pilgrimages, or know much about the world beyond his own hunting-ground.
+Before he is old enough to remember any thing he makes his first journey
+to the trading-post where his ancestors have for generations been
+regular customers and perpetual debtors. He does not remember how or
+when he learned the way. On his own stream and its tributaries he is
+an infallible guide, for he learned all the landmarks before he could
+pronounce their names. But every forest traveller has found the Indians
+in one locality reluctant to go far from home. When Alexander Mackenzie
+felt his way, by stream and portage, to the great river which bears his
+name, and thence down to the Frozen Ocean, he found that the Indians
+on one reach of the river always believed that below their own country
+there were impassable rapids and insurmountable rocks, ferocious beasts
+and hidden perils. If you will journey toward the head of the Ottawa,
+in the fall of this year, you will find precisely the same state of
+aboriginal mind. The Indians around the Grand Lake Victoria are within
+a few miles of the sources of rivers flowing toward the four quarters of
+the American continent. Ten days' steady canoeing in any direction would
+take them to Hudson's Bay or Lake Huron or Lake Ontario or Montreal. But
+they never travel for the sake of seeing the country, or get far from
+home.
+
+It was on the last day Jocko was with us, October 26th, that I made the
+photograph of him which is one of the illustrations of this article.
+He was in his shirt-sleeves and wore an old straw hat. While we were
+eating our lunch at noon, the black flies were a little attentive and
+it was uncomfortably warm. That was the climate of the far Upper Ottawa
+in the last days of October. There was not yet a suggestion of snow.
+For all the atmospheric indications told us, we might have been in the
+Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
+
+The Ottawa above Grand Lake House comes down out of the rocky hills, and
+is full of rapids. In many smooth places the current is very swift, and
+it was worth coming a long way to see Joe and Jocko paddle up places
+where Billy and I could not go. Fighting inch by inch against a rapid
+current is one of the most trying tests of endurance I know. It is
+unlike anything else in the world. You pull and pull, and realize that
+an instant's relaxation will cost you all you have gained. If the water
+only would stop for an instant! But it is so easy for the current to
+rush on and on. How futile are human energy and perseverance against a
+power which has never for one second faltered in uncounted years!
+
+Jocko told Joe—he could not say it in English—that he enjoyed travelling
+with us more than he did with the Hudson's Bay Company people, because
+they travelled for dear life, making fifty or sixty miles a day, and
+nearly paralyzed his arms. When he had gone from Hunter's Point to Grand
+Lake House a few weeks before, he and Mr. Christopherson had made the
+trip in less than three days, but his arms were numb all the next night.
+He liked to find a white man who travelled "like an Indian," and said if
+I would come up this fall he would show me some moose and deer hunting
+around the head of the Coulonge and Dumoine, the like of which white
+men did not often see.
+
+We reached the camp of the old chief, Jocko's objective point, just at
+purple twilight, when the smoke was rising straight toward the sky, and
+we witnessed one of the most peaceful and beautiful bits of wilderness
+comfort I have ever beheld. It seemed more like approaching a white
+man's farm than an Indian camp.
+
+There were two or three log-houses, a few acres of cleared land, and two
+or three horses and cows. A tame horned owl scolded us from the roof of
+a barn. The Indian girls were singing and calling to each other across
+the wide river. A score of children and grandchildren of the fat old
+chief turned out to welcome us, and we slept in one of the log-barns,
+on the hay. Jocko sat up and visited with his Indian girl friends, and
+I heard them laughing and chatting until long after midnight.
+
+As I lay looking out at the shining surface of the Ottawa, from my
+cosey nest in the sweet, wild hay, it was bewildering to remember that
+so much of Canada lay south of us. Only a rifle-shot away, at the end
+of a forest path, were the bubbling springs which form the sources of
+the Coulonge, that pine-embowered stream which, for two hundred miles,
+straight away to the south, traverses the centre of the great interior
+island whose borders we were encircling. I thought of the long reaches
+of moonlit river, where the timid deer were drinking, and the moose, in
+all the ardor of their courtship, roared hoarse contempt for impertinent
+rivals. And this was only one of the streams whose sources we were
+circumnavigating: the Maganasipi, the Bear, the swamp-fed Black, the
+Dumoine, the Tomasine, the Desert—all these rivers and a thousand lakes,
+gathered all at last in the generous arms of the twin rivers, and borne
+away to join the grand chorus, the voice of many waters.
+
+In the morning there was a pow-wow, as the result of which a son and
+grandson of the chief agreed to see us out to the Gatineau, the boy
+going along to help his father if a freeze-up should make it necessary
+to carry their canoe back over the ice. For many miles through devious
+channels and short cuts, we ran past natural meadows where the unsown
+grass had grown high and dried up for the lack of something to feed
+upon it—ancient beaver meadows, from which all trace of the original
+forest had long ago disappeared. Joe and the Indian discussed the
+beaver question earnestly. It appears that the most interesting issue
+in Algonquin politics is what to do about the beavers. There are plenty
+of them all through the back country, and the Indians regard them as
+their personal property. They only kill a certain proportion of the
+little animals, and carefully preserve the supply. The beaver's habit of
+building for himself and family a comfortable and conspicuous residence
+enables the hunters to take a pretty accurate census of the population,
+and to tell just where the animals are to be found. On our way we
+turned aside and photographed a beaver-dam and a house. The natural
+history books generally picture these constructions as quite symmetrical
+affairs, but all I have ever seen have been rough piles of sticks and
+mud, and the photographs show typical beaver construction.
+
+A few years ago a sportsman's club in Quebec induced the legislature
+to pass a law entirely prohibiting the killing of beaver until the year
+1900. Two hundred years ago, when the Iroquois made raids on the Ottawa
+country, and prevented the annual catch of beaver skins from coming
+down to Montreal and Quebec, hard times fell upon Canada. Precisely the
+same condition has confronted the Indians and the Hudson's Bay Company
+recently. It is almost as bad a situation as it would be in Illinois
+if the farmers were forbidden by law to kill hogs. The Hudson's Bay
+Company's agents at Grand Lake Victoria and the Barriere lake have not
+dared to buy the skins. The Indians have had no other reliable way to
+pay for their supplies. Ruin for the traders and starvation for the
+Indians would inevitably follow the continued enforcement of the law.
+Some relief has been afforded by the fact that the post at Abittibi
+ships all its furs by way of Hudson's Bay, so they cannot be seized
+by the Quebec authorities; and thousands of skins, worth $10 apiece,
+were diverted to that market last year. The Indians have been very
+much disturbed over the matter, for they find the law of necessity more
+urgent than a statute whose logic they cannot understand. "Some families
+up here starve to death last winter," interpreted Joe, after listening
+for awhile to Jonas, our new guide. "I t'ink I no starve, w'en de beaver
+build his house close by my water-hole."
+
+Our newly acquired pilot had no idea of losing any business
+opportunities. His canoe was ahead of the one in which Joe, Billy,
+and I travelled, and he had his muzzle-loading, cylinder-bore double
+shot-gun, a handy little weapon, lying in front of him, both hammers at
+full cock, hour after hour as he paddled, the muzzle pointing squarely
+at the back of his boy in the bow. It was trying to unaccustomed nerves,
+but the boy seemed to be used to the idea of sudden death. Jonas had a
+curious habit of holding a bullet in his mouth, ready to drop it in an
+instant down the gun-barrel, on top of the shot. The utility of keeping
+his decks cleared for action appeared when, toward evening, he cleverly
+snapped up a reckless mink which darted along the bank, where the stream
+was narrow and crooked. The report startled a caribou, which crashed
+out of the alders, not fifty feet away. Jonas spat his bullet down the
+left barrel and fired again, neatly missing both his boy's head and
+the reindeer. Joe derided Jonas in choice Algonquin, and said to me,
+confidentially, "I t'ink we better go in front in de mornin'." All the
+same, the Indian's idea of a gun which will do for partridges one minute
+and moose the next is a sound one, in a country where one's breakfast
+flies or runs away.
+
+At noon the next day, we reached the head of that branch of the Ottawa
+rising in the Barriere lake. Long ago forgotten Gatineau timber-cutters
+built a dam, to divert this water to the Jean de Terre, but now the
+dam has fallen into disuse, and the stream seeks its ancient bed.
+Just beyond the dam is the Hudson's Bay post, a branch of the one on
+the Grand Lake Victoria. Mr. Edwards, the agent, was delighted to see
+strangers, especially when I produced a letter which Mr. Christopherson
+had sent by me, enclosing his three months' salary. Mrs. Edwards soon
+discovered that our Billy was her nephew, and that much-related young
+person was at once honored with a seat at the family dinner-table with
+the twelve little Edwardses, fraternizing with them in the three-ply
+language which is the natural speech of these mixed races. Mr. Edwards
+told me he had that season refused hundreds of beaver-skins from
+Indians, every one of whom was on his books for a year's supplies, and
+now he did not quite see what the post was going to do, with beavers
+demonetized.
+
+Jonas, our most recent guide, did not wish to linger, being haunted
+by the fear of coming frost which the warm air belied. So that same
+afternoon we hastened on, regretfully declining Mr. Edwards's invitation
+to go on a caribou hunt. These reindeer abound in the Barrière lake
+country.
+
+We camped perhaps fifteen miles from the post that night, and the next
+morning, soon after starting up the lake, came to a narrow place where
+the water, instead of coming toward us as it had been doing all the time
+for days, formed a little rapid, running the same way we were going.
+The day before we had seen the water pouring into the Ottawa through
+the lumbermen's worn-out dam, and here, twenty-four hours afterward,
+continuing up the same lake, we found the current was with us instead
+of against us, down instead of up, and we were drifting out toward the
+Gatineau, in the other direction. If we had not known about the two
+outlets to the lake we should have thought the water was bewitched.
+
+All that day we ran through Lake Kakebonga, which the Hudson's Bay
+people consider the most bewildering sheet of water in the Gatineau
+Valley. There are dozens of deep bays, which look about alike, and if
+you start into the wrong one, you get wholly astray. Once during the day
+it became a little foggy, and Jonas at once went ashore and waited for
+the veil to lift, as he said no one could find his way there in thick
+weather. These large lakes are all long and narrow, and very crooked.
+Like Kippewa and Victoria, Lake Kakebonga is nowhere wide, but its
+shore-line is very long, and the canoe route often cuts across a portage
+to save miles of travelling.
+
+East of Lake Kakebonga there is a very rough bit of country which we
+crossed by what are locally known as the Sixteen Portages, or "the
+Sixteen," where we clambered into and out of the canoe on an average
+about once in half a mile. At last we came to a long, wide path over
+a level plain. "I know dis portage so well I know my own house," said
+Joe. "I was up here from de Gatineau fourteen year ago." And there our
+forest friends turned back, and left Joe and Billy and me to make our
+way by the smooth current of the Jean de Terre out to the Gatineau. I
+suppose we ran twenty miles after three o'clock that afternoon. Then,
+when it was so dark we could see no longer, we camped on a dry sand-bar,
+cooked our supper by a little fire, turned the canoe on edge, spread our
+blankets, threw the tent over all, and were lost in dreamless oblivion.
+
+"De wolf was howl pretty good las' night, wasn't he?" commented
+Joe, as he waked Billy and me in the smoky dawn. "I tink I hear em
+close by onetime." And in the sand, about one hundred feet from our
+resting-place, were plenty of tracks, where the deer-killing brutes had
+prowled around while we slept; perfectly harmless creatures, but unable
+to resist the temptation to come near the fat and juicy Billy.
+
+Of all northern wilderness streams, the most interesting I have ever
+seen is the Gatineau, into which we were soon carried by the current of
+the Jean de Terre. The descent which the devious Ottawa makes in seven
+hundred miles or so, is accomplished by the Gatineau in its straight
+course of less than two hundred, and there are few places where you
+cannot hear the roar of the next rapid. In the spring every bend is a
+maelstrom. On the banks and overhanging cedars we could see the marks
+made by the spring freshets, fifteen feet above the fall level of the
+water. And even then, as we approached a rapid, it was necessary to know
+on which side the portage was, because generally the opposite bank was
+a vertical wall, and once in the sweep of the current, there could be
+no return.
+
+"You see dat rapid?" said Joe, after an early camp on the portage, as
+we went down to look at the boiling cauldron below, "I tink I always
+remember him. One time I work in a shanty back on dat leetle stream we
+pass dis afternoon. De shanty was mos' ready to break up, and good many
+de men was go down on de drive. Dere was only one foreman for all de
+gangs, 'cause so many men been laid off. Dat mornin' de foreman tell dis
+man 'I want you for do dis,' an' dose men 'I want you for do dat,' sen'
+dis man here and dat man dere, an' he pick six men an' he say 'I want
+you for take de batteau—dat's de big row-boat—'wid forty-five chains, to
+de gang for fix de boom in de pond down below,' and he say 'Dat rapid
+dere, don' none you dam fools try for run him. I tell you dat batteau
+ain't like de canoe, an' de chains won't help you swim; so I want you
+for portage de whole t'ing.' So de men take de batteau, and de foreman
+say, 'You, Joe, you an' your chum an' Big Jule, you take de big canoe,
+an' you go down for help on de boom.'
+
+"So we start an' follow de batteau, an' of course you can't see ver'
+far in de river, he is so crooked. I was in de bow, an' I see dem men
+in de batteau, 'bout two acres ahead, 'fore we get to de bend. Well, we
+come to de head dis portage and we see nobody dere. I take out my pack
+an' put de tump-line on my head, an' my chum say 'Dem fellers make de
+portage pretty quick.' I go down wid my pack, and start up de portage
+once more, for bring de canoe, me an' Big Jule. W'en I get to de head
+of de portage, my chum, he come run up all out of breat', an' he say 'I
+see a hat an' a oar in de water down by de foot de rapid!'
+
+"Den I know w'at's de matter. Me an' Big Jule we have de canoe on our
+heads for carry it down de portage, but we don't say one word. We jus'
+turn de canoe down and I jump in de bow, an' my chum in the middle, an'
+Big Jule for steer, an' we run de rapid. We t'ink maybe somebody hang on
+de rock; but fore we know it we strike jus' where dey strike, on a side
+jam w'ere de logs pile up. I jump out, an' my chum he jump out, an' we
+catch de canoe an' let her swing, an we holler to Jule to jump, an he
+jump jus' in time I tell you, for the canoe go under de jam an' smash,
+cr-r-ack all to piece. I never so near de en' of my life till I die,
+sure. Well, we go back an' tell de foreman, and he sen' some men for
+shut down de dam, up in de lac, an' we look for dem feller four days. We
+look way down below, but we no fine 'em, an' de mornin' de fift' day,
+I was stan' up in de bow, an' I see black spot come up an' bob up an
+down in de eddy right down dere, an' in fifteen minute we have dem six
+feller out on dis san' bar. Dey was all in a bunch. It was hot, and dey
+look awful.
+
+  [Illustration: On Lake Kippewa.]
+
+"Well, sir, after dat you not hear one word in de shanty at night.
+De mens come in, an' dey jus' sit an' say not one word, an' good many
+de young lads git fright, an' leave de drive an go home. O, I t'ink I
+remember dis rapid pretty sure."
+
+Joe's boyhood experience of the Gatineau stood us in good stead all
+the way down. He remembered perfectly all the rapids, knew which could
+be run and which could not. "W'en you see de swells run black over de
+rock, don't you be fright' dat you strike," said he, "but if de water
+be white, den you look out." And he showed how, along the edge of the
+rough water, there is often a liquid path, not more than the width of
+the canoe, which may be followed with perfect safety.
+
+Another half-day's run brought us to a lumber shanty, with its tell-tale
+smoke.
+
+"Quay!" shouted the cook, which is good Algonquin for "Hello!" And then
+I realized that weeks of constant out-of-door existence had transformed
+me into a good enough imitation of an Indian to deceive a lumberman.
+
+"Don't I know you?" asked Joe of the cook, not deigning to reply in the
+Algonquin tongue. And then the white man on shore and the half-red man
+in the stern of the canoe recognized each other as camp-mates on some
+by-gone excursion down the river in escort of a few thousand logs.
+
+"What shanty you from?" asked the cook, turning to me inquiringly.
+"Didn't I see you with Gilmour's boss last year?"
+
+Explanations followed, and the canoe which had come all the way around
+from Mattawa secured the undivided attention of the lumber crew when
+they came to supper that evening.
+
+The next day brought us down to the Desert village, where we left my
+beloved canoe on the bank, and took a stage coach.
+
+As we carried the luggage to the village hotel, at three o'clock on
+the afternoon of October 30th, the first flakes of snow began to float
+softly down, and the splendid Canadian summer was at an end.
+
+
+
+
+FRANCISCO AND FRANCISCA
+
+By Grace Ellery Channing
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER APPLETON CLARK
+
+
+"It is not a place for everyone," said the priest, quietly, as he led
+the way under drooping peppers. "These children are orphans of good
+family. Their excellent mother died a year ago; but they are poor, and I
+have promised to find them a guest to fill their bedroom. A few dollars
+will be a blessing to them."
+
+His glance, practised in such measurement, added—"And you are a
+gentleman—a man to be trusted.
+
+"The house is plain but comfortable. Francisca, like her mother, is
+an admirable housekeeper," he remarked as he led his guest into the
+paradise of roses.
+
+The Professor, noting the sweet unkemptness of it, had his New England
+doubts, but he had none when Francisco, bareheaded, warm, and beautiful,
+came up from irrigating the oranges, "kissed the hands" of the
+Professor, and turning his own supple palms outward made him a present
+of the house and all in it, which at that moment included Francisca,
+standing under the roses of the porch, and more beautiful even than
+Francisco.
+
+The professional ears were pricked at the soft organ-tones of speech.
+If he should not decide to take the Chair, at least his time need not be
+lost, he argued. That, indeed, had been his motive for seeking a Spanish
+household.
+
+When he packed his trunk in Boston a Spanish dictionary was included,
+as became a professor of languages; and now as he unpacked it in the
+little roof-bedroom with the red, round eyes of oranges staring levelly
+in, and a drifting cascade of perfume and green and white outside, he
+was well content.
+
+Perhaps it was that foreign ancestress of his, to whom he was fond of
+ascribing his bent for languages, who made this foreign corner of his
+own country so instantly attractive to him.
+
+When he went downstairs later he stepped into an open world. There were
+untold windows, all wide to the air, and through the green curtains
+of vines nodded the heads of many roses. Francisca, and the ancient
+relative to whom the orphans gave a home, and who served as a nominal
+duenna, were giving the last touches to a table laid in the corner of
+the broad veranda, which ran about three sides of the house. The grassy
+space it enclosed was of brave Bermuda, brown, but never-dying, and
+returning green thanks for a cupful of water. The Professor's foot came
+to love the touch of that thick carpet in after days.
+
+Beyond, the orange-grove stretched to the lime-hedge, and over that the
+peppers drooped their ferny branches.
+
+Nothing in all the place was trimmed. Where the long trailing arms
+of the Lady Banksia fell by their own weight, or clambered by their
+own daring, there they remained. The Professor stooped under the same
+trailing branch each time he passed around the veranda. A dozen times he
+took out his knife impatiently to cut it, but an involuntary compunction
+arrested his hand. It was so in keeping with the place—it was so in
+keeping with Francisco and Francisca.
+
+And with an incredible ease and swiftness, the Professor found himself
+growing in keeping, too.
+
+In another corner of the deep rose-covered veranda all his writing
+materials quickly congregated. An Indian basket of oranges stood on
+the little stand by the hammock's elbow, near the rocking-chair in
+which Francisca sat daily, converting fine linen into finer lace, and
+cultivating the Professor's Spanish at the same time.
+
+Francisca "kept the house," not with semi-yearly upheavals and the
+terrible cleanliness of the Professor's ancestral memories, but in
+a leisurely, sweet fashion of her own, leaving much to the sun and
+air, ignoring brasses and other troublous matters, perhaps, but never
+failing—wise Francisca!—to put a rose in her hair, and to set hot,
+savoury dishes with tropical names before her men-folk. Therefore no
+man ever found a flaw in Francisca's housekeeping.
+
+Had there been twenty men beneath her roof, each would have been
+her peculiar care. Her manner to her young brother had a caressing
+sweetness which a New England girl would have kept for her lover or
+conscientiously forborne him—for his soul's sake.
+
+As for Francisco, sixteen, brown, slender, wearing his peaked sombrero
+with consummate grace (a gift he shared in common with every wood-cutter
+and _ranchero_ of the pure blood), he was the Professor's companion
+in every walk, every blood-stirring lope across the open _mesa_, every
+delicious climb up the chaparral-sided hills or the ferny cañons. The
+boy grew into his heart; and in return Francisco loved him as boys and
+Southerners can love, with adoration.
+
+It was only a short time after he came among them that the Professor
+stopped one morning on his way out of the breakfast-room (in which they
+never breakfasted!) to examine a quaint inlaid guitar, hanging by faded
+ribbons against the wall.
+
+"It is Francisco's," said Francisca. "He plays beautifully; but he has
+never played since our mother died—he hung it here then."
+
+"That is not well," said the Professor. "You should win him to play
+again."
+
+That evening, in the moonlight on the porch, Francisca laid a tender
+hand upon her brother's head as he sat on the step below. Her hands
+seemed made for such a purpose.
+
+"Francisco, the Señor asks if you never mean to play your guitar again."
+
+Francisco was silent a moment, looking at the stars.
+
+"Perhaps," he replied. "Some day, when we are very happy again—not yet."
+Then turning his head, he touched the caressing hand lightly with his
+lips.
+
+"At thy wedding—or mine—_querida_," he said, lightly, and rising
+abruptly, went into the house.
+
+"He cannot bear yet to hear her spoken of," said Francisca, following
+him with moist eyes.
+
+"I was—ahem!—very fond of my mother. She died when I was a boy," said
+the Professor.
+
+"But ours was with us only a little year ago. She sat where you sit,
+and looked at us with her beautiful soft eyes.
+
+"And you—you had not even a sister." Francisca looked at him as if she
+would like to make up that deficiency of tenderness—perhaps to stroke
+_his_ head, as she did Francisco's.
+
+There was abundant leisure for the Professor's studies, for the long,
+gorgeous wonderland of summer was upon them, and most people were at
+Santa Catalina, or in the high Sierras, taking an exchange of paradises.
+
+The days rounded through their delicious sequence of perfumed dawns
+alive with birds, and middays of still air and shadowed lawns, to the
+infinite twilights and great moons.
+
+In the evenings—the evenings of Southern California—they sat out
+under the vines, watching these enormous yellow and orange moons, and
+Francisca sang Californian songs.
+
+Thus the days passed; punctuated by a talk with the Padre, a ride, a
+stroll, or some playful share in the labor of irrigating the oranges—the
+one form of labor Francisco ever seemed engaged in; but these he
+irrigated perpetually.
+
+The Professor missed nothing; he desired nothing. The intoxication of
+living in close touch with the sun and air, and Earth in her summer
+mood, has never been half told. Every fibre of his being rejoiced in
+that long summer.
+
+The little ranch of five acres—all that remained of five hundred—was
+large enough to hold his content. We do not know that the Garden of Eden
+was larger. He wrote hopefully to the Faculty concerning that Chair, and
+with laudable moderation to his principal correspondent in the East:
+"California has a charm impossible to analyze. I wish you were here."
+And then he paused, pondered, and carefully erased the last sentence,
+but not so perfectly but that Miss Dysart by dint of holding it up to
+the window-pane deciphered it, and sat biting her pencil gravely a space
+thereafter.
+
+To wake in the morning and know the sun would shine all day; not to be
+withered by the heat or chilled by the wind, but subtly flattered and
+caressed by a climate which was only another Francisca; to be wooed to
+large thoughts and visions by the landscape; not to feel the press and
+friction of a narrow life and arbitrary customs, and yet to be conscious
+through all this space and tranquillity of the forward impetus of a
+vigorous young life all about him—this sufficed. The opportunities
+for usefulness were great in a place destined to detain every soul
+who lingered a rash year within its borders—and to make of the next
+generation natives.
+
+In lieu of caressing the land itself, he often caressed Francisco, its
+breathing type, drawing the lad to him with an arm about his slender
+shoulders.
+
+And Francisca, the other breathing type, regarded them both with that
+smile of tenderness which has in it so much of the maternal. When all is
+said, the wisest man remains something of a child to any woman, though
+she is but an inexperienced girl, and he may have forgotten more out of
+books than she will ever know.
+
+One day Francisco, running lightly up the path and steps to where
+Francisca sat filling a bowl with roses, and the Professor sat watching
+her, dropped an envelope upon the table.
+
+"This is all your mail, Señor," said Francisco, gayly.
+
+The Professor opened, glanced, and fell into a brown study, from which
+he woke to encounter Francisca's eyes over the bowl of roses.
+
+"Is anything the matter?" asked those eyes anxiously.
+
+"Nothing," the Professor replied to them. "An old friend of mine is
+coming out unexpectedly—is on her way to Santa Barbara."
+
+"That is pleasant for you," said Francisca, sweetly. "And the days are
+cooler; she will be sure to like our country."
+
+"She is coming to-morrow," said the Professor, rising abruptly. "I must
+go at once to the hotel."
+
+"We will send many roses to her room; and Francisco shall pick the large
+Indian basket full of fruit—she will be so tired with the long journey."
+
+"Thank you," murmured the Professor, vaguely.
+
+He did not hear Francisca's caution to her brother: "Do not pick any of
+the heliotrope, Francisco, for the heavy scent may be disagreeable to an
+old lady—and only the very choicest peaches—old people must be careful
+what they eat." But this was not needed for his confusion.
+
+"How well you are looking!" exclaimed Miss Dysart, as she stepped from
+the train the next morning, with a critical glance at the Professor.
+
+"The only climate on earth," replied the Professor, laughing to hide a
+shade of embarrassment; "and you—you are looking well, too."
+
+Distinctly well, in her immaculate shirtwaist and sailor-hat, without
+touch of travel or dust about her.
+
+"Oh, all climates suit me—even our own," Miss Dysart answered, lightly.
+
+"Only one trunk, thank you; I am a 'transient.' And so this is your
+earthly paradise. Is that ferny thing a pepper-tree?"
+
+She was so much absorbed in the landscape all through the short drive
+that the Professor ended by feeling quite at his ease. At the hotel door
+she dismissed him graciously.
+
+"You may come back after lunch, if you like, and show me something of
+your paradise."
+
+"Of course," said the Professor with unnecessary alacrity.
+
+As he walked back he had a sensation as if a cool breeze from the Back
+Bay, at once bracing and chilling, had suddenly begun to blow across the
+summer air. The same sensation recurred later in the day when he found
+himself strolling with her under the drooping peppers to the Mission
+and through the town. Had they not often planned it—ages ago?—or had
+not _he_ planned it in his mind—at least it had been tacitly understood,
+and—here it was.
+
+She was looking admirably, too. The little precision of her starched
+collar and cuffs, and severe hat and correct gown, were an echo of his
+native city. She was the best type of the things he liked and approved
+and believed in.
+
+And her mood was the bright mood of comradeship he always enjoyed. She
+faced the semi-tropical world with fresh, appreciative eyes, and her
+sense of humor was like his native air re-breathed. So singly did the
+place occupy her that the Professor expanded gradually and his tongue
+lost its knot.
+
+"And you regret nothing here?" said Miss Dysart at last, suddenly.
+
+"Nothing," replied the Professor, emphatically—and stopped.
+
+"That is what it is to have a foreign grandmother. You do not even miss
+the symphony concerts—the Greek play—the Sunday afternoons."
+
+The Professor laughed rather drearily.
+
+"It is the same thing, I suppose, which leads the scarlet geranium to
+be a climber here, and calla-lilies to grow wild, and heliotrope to run
+up to the house-eaves. What a poem of a place!" she exclaimed, stopping.
+"And what a beautiful creature!"
+
+"This is—er—where I am staying," replied the Professor, all his
+impediments returned. "That is Francisco—he _is_ a handsome lad; and
+that is his sister, Miss Francisca, on the veranda. Pray come in and
+see the roses."
+
+Miss Dysart followed him with composure, and gave her gloved hand
+cordially to Francisca.
+
+"I have heard so much of your paradise," she said, "but I did not know
+it could be so true."
+
+A bewildered expression crossed Francisca's face as the two advanced,
+but it passed, and her manner was as perfect as Miss Dysart's own. So
+was Francisco's, who placed a chair, and drew a rose-branch to shield
+the visitor's eyes from the sun—his own reflecting the blankness of
+Francisca's. Francisca had to call him twice to pass the wine she poured
+in the quaint old glasses, and which they could never conceivably be
+too poor to offer a guest.
+
+As Miss Dysart sat sipping her wine politely—she was not fond of
+wine—she felt, as she looked, like one in a foreign land. The Professor,
+seated discreetly behind, noted this with a smile. But Francisco and
+Francisca were as much a part of the landscape as any rose in it.
+
+The conversation turned, as conversations infallibly will, to the
+transcontinental journey, with the "You remember this—you saw that" of
+travellers.
+
+Francisco and Francisca listened silently, only when Miss Dysart turned
+to the latter, she said with a kind of proud humility: "Ah! I know
+nothing of these things. I only know—this," with a gesture about her.
+
+Miss Dysart and the Professor looked at her, and the value of "these
+things" was differently visible in their eyes.
+
+"How beautiful she is!" thought the Boston girl.
+
+"How much she knows and has seen!" thought Francisca.
+
+The Professor's thoughts are not recorded. What he said was playful,
+but with an undertone which was not lost on one of his hearers. "'These
+things' are not worth your rose-garden, Miss Francisca—saying nothing
+of the rest of the _rancho_."
+
+"Ah! it is nice of you to say so," replied Francisca, "but I do not
+believe it—nor does Miss Dysart."
+
+Miss Dysart kept her lids discreetly lowered.
+
+"By the way," she said, "I have someone to thank for a portion of a
+rose-garden myself. I don't suppose the hotels furnish that."
+
+"Miss Francisca—" began the enlightened Professor.
+
+"The Señor," interposed Francisca, quickly, "naturally wished you to
+have a Californian welcome. Francisco and I carried them down for him."
+
+This time Miss Dysart raised her lids and looked straight at the girl
+before her.
+
+"Thank you," she said, quietly.
+
+"But if you care for roses," said Francisca, rising, "you must look at
+ours in the garden. We are proud of our roses, though it is not the rose
+season," she added; "for that you must come in April and May."
+
+"Thanks!" exclaimed Miss Dysart, "but when one is used to one's roses
+by the half-dozen, this will do!"
+
+"You shall have as many as you like every day, of course," said
+Francisca. "Or, perhaps," she added, quietly, "you will like to come
+and gather them yourself. The garden is yours."
+
+"'Gather ye roses while ye may!'—you are most kind. I will take this
+one now, if I may," replied Miss Dysart, bending above a great white
+Lyonnaise.
+
+  [Illustration: And now as he unpacked it ... he was well content.
+   —Page 277.]
+
+"Just the rose I should expect you to choose," said the Professor,
+cutting it for her.
+
+"Pray, why?" inquired Miss Dysart a little sharply.
+
+"It is such a calm, vigorous, upright rose—a kind of apotheosis of our
+own New England roses. A well-bred rose; it does not straggle, nor shed
+its petals untidily. It would not look out of place in Boston;—and it
+has not too much color."
+
+"You prefer these, I suppose," remarked the girl, coolly, glancing at
+his hand. The Professor looked down guiltily.
+
+"I have been gleaming after you ladies. This is your Mermet."
+
+"Thank you!" replied Miss Dysart dryly replacing the pink bud in her
+belt.
+
+But the red rose remained in his hand.
+
+Miss Dysart turned away abruptly. "What a place for a Flower Mission!"
+
+Francisca looked puzzled. "Flower Mission—what is that?"
+
+"The depth of your ignorance, Miss Francisca!" exclaimed the Professor.
+"You see, Mildred, Nature runs a Flower Mission on such a large
+scale that she deprives us of that—as well as many other legitimate
+philanthropies."
+
+"Ah!" said Francisca, "now I do know what a Flower Mission is. It must
+be very helpful. And we do so little good with all these—only to dress
+the church."
+
+"And welcome strangers," suggested Miss Dysart.
+
+"My sister is always giving flowers away, and fruit," declared
+Francisco. "The Señor and the Padre know if that is true."
+
+"But only for pleasure, thou foolish one," said Francisca, smiling at
+him.
+
+Francisco did not smile back. He remained grave, and bowed their guest
+farewell, with his _caballero_ air, without a word.
+
+"What a beautiful, solemn boy!" exclaimed Miss Dysart as she walked down
+the street.
+
+"Francisco? Oh, he can be merry enough; you must allow for the effect
+of a visitor from Boston."
+
+"Pray let poor Boston alone! What an absolute partisan you have become!"
+
+"Have I? Perhaps it is only my mean effort to hide our consciousness of
+inferiority. We have no Missions here—except Franciscan ones."
+
+"We! our!" repeated Miss Dysart, emphatically. "Have you ceased to be
+a New Englander already? Is this the effect of this remarkable climate?"
+
+"I am afraid—it is," replied the Professor, meekly.
+
+And as he walked home that eastern breeze blew more keenly still. As one
+turns to the sun, he turned to the house hopefully. Only Francisco was
+still sitting on the top step gazing gloomily into space. The Professor
+laid an affectionate hand on the boy's shoulder.
+
+"What is the matter, Francisco? Are you not well?"
+
+"There is nothing, Señor," was the melancholy reply.
+
+The Professor fidgetted restlessly about the veranda and lawn, feeling
+as if the whole place had been subtly changed. There was no Spanish that
+afternoon, either; Francisca was apparently too busy, for she did not
+come out at all.
+
+In the evening, however, she was idle enough. Francisco and she sat on
+the steps and watched the moonlight make patterns on the walk below.
+The Professor had gone to call on Miss Dysart, inwardly reviling the
+social necessity which demanded starched linen and a black coat on
+such a night. It was still early when Francisca with some light word
+of excuse, and the little caress to her brother nothing could have made
+her forget, rose and went in.
+
+It was not even late when the Professor with eager feet came up
+the path, all inlaid with the ferny tracery of shadows from the
+pepper-boughs. The veranda, apparently deserted, greeted him silently,
+and he stood a moment battling with an immense disappointment. It seemed
+to him that he had lost forever an evening out of his life.
+
+Slowly he mounted the steps, and on the threshold he paused again. A
+long tendril of the Banksia swayed in the half-shadow, and surely his
+ears caught a suppressed sobbing breath. He made one step toward it.
+
+"Francisca!"
+
+"It is I, Señor," replied the melancholy voice of Francisco; and the
+boy came forward into the moonlight. "Did you wish anything, Señor?"
+
+"Nothing," replied the Professor, mendaciously, his cheeks warm in the
+darkness.
+
+"Good-night, Francisco!"
+
+  [Illustration: Francisca "kept the house."—Page 277.]
+
+"Good-night, Señor!" returned the boy in the same melancholy tone.
+
+Long after the Professor's light was extinguished, the lad lay watching
+the night away in the hammock.
+
+The stamp of that vigil was on his face the next morning when he asked
+the Professor to advise him as to some orange-trees at the farther end
+of the ranch. The Professor, who had also passed a white night, gave a
+haggard consent. Francisca alone appeared fresh and smiling. The best
+artists do not adorn the stage.
+
+There seemed nothing particular the matter with the grove, when they
+had reached it.
+
+"Which are the trees in question?" asked the Professor, who at that
+moment wished all oranges in a climate much too tropical for them.
+
+"Señor," replied Francisco, facing him—and it struck the Professor the
+boy had grown tall overnight—"do you love my sister?"
+
+"Francisco!" exclaimed the Professor, violently, and the blood began to
+pound in his ears.
+
+"I must know, Señor. When you spoke of an old friend, we thought,
+Francisca and I, of an old woman—and now here has come this young lady
+from your home, one of your people—and she calls you by your name, and
+you call her by hers. She has come because she cares for you, and you
+spend your time with her, and yet, Señor, you gave her back her rose
+and kept my sister's!"
+
+There was a guilty movement of the Professor's hand toward his
+breast-pocket, instantly checked.
+
+"When you came home last night you called my sister by name. Señor,
+this cannot be! I am not jealous; you have a right to love this other,
+but I must know. I do not say for a moment," he added, proudly, "that
+Francisca has thought of you, but she is very young. She might come to
+care, and—I will not have it so!"
+
+"Francisco!" exclaimed the Professor again.
+
+"We are poor now," said Francisco, lifting his head, "but my people were
+great people when yours, Señor—the Americans—were nobody!"
+
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Professor, sharply, catching at a tangible
+point of remonstrance with relief. "My people were never 'nobody'—they
+were New Englanders."
+
+Francisco bowed.
+
+"Francisco," said the Professor, in a different tone, "I thought you
+loved me—I thought you trusted me."
+
+"What has that to do with it, Señor?" inquired Francisco, sternly. "It
+is of my sister I think. If you do not love her you must go away at
+once."
+
+"I will be answerable to your sister only," began the Professor.
+
+"Pardon me, Señor, you will be answerable to _me_. I am the head of the
+family. Francisca is only a child," said this other child.
+
+The Professor was silent. When he spoke, at last, he was answering
+himself rather than Francisco.
+
+"I will go!"
+
+Francisco winced, but did not flinch.
+
+He made a gesture for the Professor to lead the way back, which the
+Professor did like a blind man. He could not have told whether his
+bitterness was toward the boy or himself. Half way he stopped.
+
+"What am I to tell her?"
+
+"You can have business—and she will understand."
+
+The Professor ground his teeth, and going to his room, began grimly
+flinging things into his trunk. He was furious with Francisco, with
+himself, with the climate which could lead a man to this.
+
+He ate his lunch in silence. So did Francisco. Men have these refuges.
+Francisca the woman, with a thread of speech, kept that silence from
+bursting. After lunch the Professor finished packing, wrote a brief note
+declining the Chair, and went down to buy his ticket. All the way down
+the landscape cried out to him.
+
+As he left the station with his ticket in his hand he encountered Miss
+Dysart on the threshold with her purse in hers.
+
+"What is the matter?" she exclaimed, after one glance. "Where are you
+going?"
+
+"Home," answered the Professor. "I was coming to tell you."
+
+Miss Dysart opened her lips, then closed them again, and turning without
+a word they walked on until the bend of the road threw them from the
+town into the country lane. There she stopped.
+
+"_Why_ are you going? You must have reasons."
+
+"I have reasons—" He stopped, smitten with the conscious absurdity that
+she who was his principal reason had scarcely crossed his mind all day.
+
+"Business—it—it is impossible for me to stay," he wound up, lamely.
+
+"_Why_ is it impossible?"
+
+The Professor looked at her and anathematised the climate again.
+
+"I—really cannot explain, Mildred," he said. "But there are reasons
+why—I feel obliged to go."
+
+  [Illustration: Francisco and Francisca listened silently.—Page 280.
+   Drawn by Walter Appleton Clark.]
+
+Miss Dysart's cheeks flushed, and she looked a moment at the wide valley
+before them.
+
+"I feel that you are making the mistake of your life," she said, in a
+low voice.
+
+  [Illustration: He could not have told whether his bitterness was
+   toward the boy or himself.—Page 284.]
+
+The Professor made a vague gesture.
+
+"But you will not go," she said, quietly. "You will think better of it.
+You will not do yourself so much wrong."
+
+"I shall go. I have bought my ticket."
+
+"I will buy it of you. I was on the way to buy one myself."
+
+"You were—!" He looked at her in his turn. "We shall travel together,
+then."
+
+"We shall do nothing of the kind. What is the use? If you go back you
+will simply break down again. You have your work here. You love this
+country."
+
+The Professor's eyes swept mutely over the valley and hills, and the
+girl watched him jealously.
+
+"You love it more than New England," she said, with a touch of
+bitterness.
+
+"Differently!" exclaimed the poor Professor; "differently!"
+
+"You love it _more_," persisted the New England girl.
+
+The Professor drew a long breath. "Can I help it? One is
+affection—fondness; the other—" He stopped abruptly.
+
+Her lips were closed tightly.
+
+"Oh, you will suffer intolerable homesickness—you are homesick _now_.
+And then it is _all_ of no use—Everard, you must stay; you must think
+better of it. Stay and take that Chair! There cannot be any business so
+pressing. It will be no use—not the slightest use for you to go."
+
+In her earnestness she put her hand on his, but instantly withdrew it.
+Her troubled eyes looked straight into his, and the Professor's looked
+straightly back. But he shook his head, and suddenly she looked away.
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Oh, I," she answered, lightly; "I am a thorough-going dyed-in-the-wool
+New-Englander. I was brought up to go to church on Sunday and clean
+house twice a year, and have a proper respect for calling cards. I shall
+go on and join aunty at Santa Barbara, and get home in time for all my
+clubs and classes. Besides, I have been meaning to tell you, I am going
+to take a year in the College Settlement."
+
+"A year in the College Settlement!" echoed the Professor, vaguely.
+
+"Yes; that will suit me better than—this. Don't forget to send Francisco
+with the ticket! Good-by!"
+
+She gave him her hand frankly, and once more their eyes encountered.
+
+"If I had had a French grandmother, you see—it might have been different
+with me," she said with a touch of mirthfulness. "And _that_ at least
+is true," she concluded to herself, looking so straight ahead that she
+walked a space beyond the hotel without seeing.
+
+The Professor, going in the opposite direction, went like a man under
+sentence.
+
+That "intolerable homesickness" was already upon him; but he was
+determined to go. He, too, was a New Englander. It is a great thing to
+have inherited principles.
+
+He was determined to go—all the way up under the hanging peppers—all
+the way beside the scented limes; nor did his determination falter as
+he turned into the accustomed path under the oranges, and the sight and
+perfume of a thousand roses stormed him all at once.
+
+There in the wonted place Francisca sat, steadily drawing the threads
+with unsteady fingers. Her lips might be a little pale, but they smiled.
+Even the rose was not missing from her hair.
+
+Francisco, perfectly miserable and perfectly proud, rose mutely from
+the steps to salute the Señor.
+
+The Señor with two gentle hands lifted the boy from his path, and made
+two steps to the chair—one touch drew the lace from the brave fingers.
+
+"Francisca," said the Professor. "Francisca—Francisca!"
+
+This was the only explanation he ever made, but in fact it was a perfect
+statement of the case.
+
+If it needed any elaboration it might be held to receive it when
+Francisca, stooping—long afterward—to recover the abused lace, picked
+up with it something else.
+
+"What is this?" she said, a little puzzled.
+
+"Oh, that," said the Professor, "that is Miss Dysart's ticket! She is
+going away to-morrow."
+
+"Ah!" said Francisca only.
+
+"Francisco is to take it to her, and by the way, where is the dear lad?"
+He made a movement to rise, but Francisca stopped him, raising his hand
+in hers.
+
+Out on the twilight air already heavy with sweet odors, came floating
+the sound of a guitar, low, but inexpressibly joyous and tender.
+
+Francisca's eyes filled with tears, but "_Caro_ Francisco!" she only
+said.
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: "Where the musk-rat swims, and the cat-tails sway."
+   —Page 289.
+   Drawn by Henry Hutt.]
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HOME HAUNTS
+
+By F. Colburn Clarke
+
+
+     There's a sound that rings in my ears to-day,
+         That echoes in vague refrain,
+     The ripple of water o'er smooth-washed clay,
+     Where the wall-eyed pike and the black bass play,
+     That makes me yearn, in a quiet way,
+         For my old fly-rod again.
+
+           Back to the old home haunts again,
+           Back where the clear lake lies;
+           Back through the woods
+           Where the blackbird broods,
+           Back to my rod and flies.
+
+     I'm longing to paddle the boat to-day,
+         Through water-logged grass and reeds;
+     Where the musk-rat swims, and the cat-tails sway;
+     Where the air is cool, and the mist is gray;
+     Where ripples dance in the same old way,
+         Under the tangled weeds.
+
+           Back on the old oak log again,
+           Back by the crystal brook;
+           Back to the bait,
+           And the silent wait,
+           Back to my line and hook.
+
+     I wish I could wade by the water's edge,
+         Where the fallen leaves drift by;
+     Just to see, in the shadow of the ledge,
+     How dark forms glide, like a woodman's wedge,
+     Through driftwood piles and the coarse marsh sedge,
+         And to hear the bittern cry.
+
+           Back where the tadpoles shift and sink,
+           Back where the bull-frogs sob;
+           Back just to float
+           In the leaky boat,
+           Back to my dripping bob.
+
+     Oh, it's just like this on each misty day,
+         It's always the same old pain
+     That struggles and pulls in the same old way
+     To carry me off for a little stay
+     By the water's edge, in sticky clay,
+         To fish in the falling rain.
+
+           Back to my long black rubber boots,
+           Back to my old patched coat;
+           Back to my rod
+           And the breath of God—
+           Home—and my leaky boat.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE EDUCATION OF PRAED
+
+By Albert White Vorse
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS BY HENRY MCCARTER.
+
+
+Daniel Webster cut from the seal a morsel of meal eight inches long
+by two inches square. He crowded out of sight as much of the delicacy
+as his mouth and part of his œsophagus would hold—about six inches—and
+sliced off the visible two inches with a blow of his knife.
+
+"I never knew before," commented Praed, "why the Eskimo nose was
+so snubby. I now see it all. It is a beautiful example of the law
+of survival. If you touch an Eskimo anywhere, you draw blood. The
+long-nosed men of the Stone Age slashed their skins at meal-times and
+died of hemorrhage. Only the short-nosed men could live. Even Daniel
+carves perilously close to his lovely snub—and if Daniel's nose were a
+little shorter it would be a cavity."
+
+"Just so," I replied, indifferently. Praed's jaunty talk jarred upon
+me, and his superior tone toward the Eskimos displeased me. He was
+attached to the Relief Party as botanist. I believe he was a Professor
+of Natural History in some Western college. He had climbed a mountain in
+the Canadian Rockies, a minor peak, no difficult ascent. I am told that
+a carriage road has recently been opened to the summit. But the mountain
+was a virgin peak and bore a living glacier, and Praed wrote for the
+papers about it and made a great achievement of his exploit. Upon the
+strength of his reputation he assumed to direct the policy of the Relief
+Expedition, and when the leader refused to fall in with his views, Praed
+grumbled, and once or twice approached open insubordination. The leader,
+a modest fellow, took his unruly botanist quietly, but several members
+of the party told me the man worried him.
+
+However, when it suited his purpose, Praed could be humble enough. He
+discovered my irritation at once and evidently thought to soothe it.
+
+"Oh, come now, old fellow," he said. "Don't take your Eskimos too
+seriously; I admire them as much as you do. Here, Daniel—Dahlgren, how
+do you say 'I like you' in Husky-tongue?"
+
+"_Iblee pee-yook amishuwa_," answered I, in the pidgin-Eskimo we had
+learned to use during our year in the Far North.
+
+"_Iblee kumook amistwa_," repeated Praed. Daniel received the
+communication with that heavy gravity which had won him his nick-name;
+his birth-name was Meeoo. Praed shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I never shall learn the lingo," he sighed. "Tell him I am going to give
+him this knife."
+
+"_Ooma pilletay iblee savik_," I translated.
+
+Daniel received the knife without comment. I caught a flash of pleasure
+in his eye, but it escaped Praed.
+
+"He doesn't seem very grateful," he said. "I despair of the aborigine.
+He has no sense of humor, no gratitude, apparently no more affection
+than his dogs. He is pure selfishness. He is homely, he is fearfully
+unclean—"
+
+"Professor Praed," I interrupted, "you arrived in Greenland three days
+ago. After you have knocked about with these fellows for a month you
+will change your opinions. As for dirt, eight or nine months in every
+year that bay is skimmed over with a little matter of five or six feet
+of ice. Until your party came, there was not a hatchet in the tribe to
+cut baths. In winter all these little streams that you see disappear.
+The Husky has to melt ice for drinking-water, and that is no light
+affair for him. In summer, it's true, he might bathe; perhaps you would
+like to try it."
+
+"Those are all very well as excuses," responded Praed; "but they don't
+remove facts. Your dear friends are disgustingly soiled. And I am going
+to accept your invitation to take a bath."
+
+He did accept it. He said he was accustomed to cold water, every morning
+(implying in his tone, that he feared I wasn't); that he had been
+baptized in the Susquehanna River through a hole in the ice, and that
+he guessed he could stand a summer sea in Greenland. He took off his
+clothes, swam out to a berg, grounded some forty feet off the beach,
+climbed hurriedly upon the ice, and danced up and down and shouted
+until we put off in a boat and rescued him. For three days afterward he
+shivered under blankets and drank up the little store of whiskey that
+remained in our supplies.
+
+I was not sorry that this object-lesson had occurred. Our expedition had
+lived for nineteen months among the Eskimos. Two or three of us, whose
+chief duty was hunting, had learned to know the Innuit as one knows
+brothers. In a savage land you choose your friends, not because they can
+judge a picture or say witty things about their neighbors, but because
+they will go through any emergency by your side. More than once Daniel
+or one and another of our Eskimo comrades had saved us from death; more
+than once we had interposed between a Husky and the Kokoia. It was not
+pleasant to hear the cock-a-whoop members of the Relief Party, with
+their amateur knowledge of Arctic conditions, classify our comrades
+among the Greenland fauna.
+
+But the Relief Party got on well with the Eskimos. They had a cargo of
+knives, hatchets, saws, needles, scissors, wooden staves, and all things
+that represent wealth to the Innuit. These things they distributed
+freely among the settlements; it was but natural that they should win
+the hearts of the Husky-folk.
+
+Praed reappeared after his chill with a triumphant air, bearing bead
+necklaces and mirrors—for trading, he said. The Eskimos, however, shook
+their heads at these gewgaws, and Praed had to fall back upon useful
+articles. He obtained for himself the office of chief distributor, and
+waxed popular in the tribe.
+
+One day, a fortnight or so after the episode of the bath, Daniel's wife,
+Megipsu, came running up the beach.
+
+"The man with gifts is at my tupik. He desires something. I do not
+understand him. Will you come?"
+
+I found Praed holding out the skirt of his coat toward Megipsu's little
+daughter.
+
+"Like this," he was repeating. "Make me a coat. Scion of a savage race,
+if I had you at home, I should chastise you. You are stupid."
+
+The child stared blankly at him.
+
+"What is it, Professor Praed?" I asked.
+
+His face turned red, and his reply came hesitatingly.
+
+"Well, you see," he said, "your Greenland climate is not what I
+expected. When the wind is quiet, everything is warm. When the gale
+comes up in the afternoon, it is cold. Now the—the fur clothes; their
+odor is as the odor of abattoirs. At first I didn't comprehend the
+evident joy you have in them. But, on the whole, you seem so comfortable
+in all weathers, that I thought I'd try a suit myself. You see, I don't
+like to be lumbered with a leather jacket all the time."
+
+"Hm!" reflected I, "Praed is learning his Greenland." All I suggested,
+however, was that if he minded the smell he might carry his leather coat
+out with him and leave it upon a rock until he should need it.
+
+"And have it stolen," he said, with a glance of pity.
+
+I perceived that he had a great deal of Greenland yet to learn. The most
+northern Eskimos do not steal. I arranged with Megipsu for a sealskin
+suit, however, to cost two pairs of scissors, a packet of sail-needles,
+a hunting-knife, a cracker-box, and Praed's wooden signal-whistle,
+which Megipsu fancied. In a week the Professor appeared in the silvery
+clothes. He was highly enthusiastic. I listened patiently while he
+explained the garments.
+
+"You see, when it is warm," he said, "I can loosen the draw-string and
+throw back the hood, and a draught of air comes in from the bottom
+and goes out at the neck and carries off the perspiration. When the
+wind rises, snap! I haul in the draw-string, cover my head, and I am
+hermetically sealed. Not a chill can touch me."
+
+"Precisely," I agreed. I had been wearing Eskimo clothes for a year and
+two months. "I understand," I added, "that you are going oogsook-hunting
+with Meeoo."
+
+"Yes," he laughed. "I'm going to show the untutored savage the
+superiority of the rifle over the harpoon."
+
+He learned more about Greenland upon that expedition. There was a floe,
+perhaps a mile wide, anchored near the mouth of the bay by half a dozen
+grounded bergs. To this floe the Eskimo and the white man set forth
+in kayaks. It was midnight when they left and we were asleep, but the
+Huskies at the village told us that the Professor couldn't manage his
+canoe, and finally had to permit Daniel to tow him.
+
+Next night they returned with a seal. The Professor had many words of
+praise for a country where the sun never sets and there is no loss of
+working-time, but nothing to say about the hunting. At last he confessed
+that Daniel had killed the seal.
+
+"The _phoca barbata_ is a wary animal," he protested. "He will not
+permit a white face to approach. Two or three of the creatures were
+taking sun-baths upon the floe, but before I could creep within shooting
+distance they flopped into the water—a most ungraceful gait. All Arctic
+animals seem to be clumsy. I fired at one seal and I think I hit him,
+but he, too, dived. At last I resigned the rifle to Daniel. The savage
+squirmed over the ice like a worm. When the seals lifted their heads,
+Daniel lifted his. It is not surprising that he deceived them. His black
+muzzle looks precisely like that of the seal, and he wears a seal's fur.
+But his methods would never do in civilization. It took him half a day
+to crawl across that ice-floe."
+
+"But he shot the seal," someone put in.
+
+"No," replied the Professor. "That's just the point. He wormed himself
+along until he could almost reach the creature, and then sprang upon it
+and clubbed it to death with the butt."
+
+I do not think Praed fully appreciated the marvellous adroitness of
+the hunter, nor the thoughtfulness of the man in saving a cartridge.
+He never seemed to comprehend that a charge of powder and bullet is
+worth more to an Eskimo than a diamond is to a bride at home. However,
+he began after that to treat the Huskies somewhat as if they were human
+beings.
+
+His complete enlightenment as to the Eskimo character came all in a
+blaze at the end of our stay in Greenland. Our work there was done. Our
+explorations had been successful, our scientific collections were almost
+completed. There were only the loose ends to be gathered up.
+
+The Professor had seen some desirable flowers in a valley across a
+glacier. Near that same glacier, in the preceding summer, I, who was
+acting as mineralogist of the main party, had piled a few specimens in a
+cranny to be carried to camp later, and I thought I might as well have
+them. We started forth together. Daniel and one or two other Huskies
+went with us for comradeship.
+
+At the edge of the glacier we halted. It was a stupendous thing,
+crawling through a gap in the hills down into the sea like a section of
+the Midgard serpent. Halfway up the flank, I remember, there was a round
+hole, and out of it spouted a waterfall, red with basaltic mud. One of
+the Æsir might have made such a wound with his spear.
+
+The back of the monster was rugged with crevasses.
+
+"You can't cross here," I counselled. "You'd better try farther up,
+where it's smoother. I'll climb the cliff and take an observation, while
+you wait here and eat your luncheon. It doesn't do to hurry too much in
+Greenland."
+
+I was almost an hour making my way up the crags to a point where I could
+take a bird's-eye view of the mass of ice. It was not a wide glacier—the
+cliffs opposite were not more than four miles away—but the great number
+of icebergs it threw off bore witness to the rapidity of its motion.
+
+  [Illustration: While he explained the garments.—Page 292.]
+
+Suddenly, almost below me upon the blue-white ice, appeared four or five
+black figures. They emerged out of a cleft near the edge and marched
+steadily toward the centre of the glacier. The surface beyond them and
+upon either hand was criss-crossed with blue crevasses. Glints from the
+shining icicles hanging down their sides darted up to me as I stood, a
+mile away. It was very picturesque, but I had no heart for enjoyment.
+
+"The man is crazy!" I burst out and scrambled down the rough stones to
+overtake him.
+
+In a quarter of an hour I had reached the bottom of the gorge, between
+the glacier and the mountain. A furious torrent roared along the side of
+the ice, but a few pinnacles of rock protruding out of the stream gave
+foothold to cross. Opposite my landing-place a huge blue cleft in the
+ice, with a gradually rising peak, furnished easy ascent to the surface.
+
+As soon as my head was clear of the cleft, I saw one of the Eskimos
+running toward me. I hastened to meet him.
+
+"Pra' has fallen!" cried the man. "The ice has eaten him. He has gone
+to sleep forever."
+
+"Damnation!" I shouted. "Run to the ship. Tell all the white men to come
+and bring a rope!"
+
+  [Illustration: I was ... making my way up the crags.—Page 292.]
+
+He sped into the cleft and I moved on. Surmounting a mound in the ice,
+I could scan the whole surface. A quarter of a mile beyond me, the dark
+figures of the party crouched beside a long narrow crevasse. As I drew
+near, the tall figure of the Professor rose and faced me. He made no
+move to meet me, and when I had approached within a few feet of him, I
+saw that his hands hung limp at his sides and that he was sobbing. He
+could not speak, but he pointed to the crevasse. I threw myself at full
+length upon the ice and peeped over the brink.
+
+A hundred feet below me, on the edge of a block of ice that hung
+unsteadily upon a mass of _débris_, lay Daniel. His head was doubled
+unnaturally forward upon his chest. The trash about him was stained with
+red. He must have died in an instant.
+
+One look was enough. I sprang to my feet and faced the Professor.
+
+"How did that happen?" I exclaimed. "Good God, man, speak! Don't act
+like a baby!"
+
+Praed burst out sobbing afresh. It was a moment before he could control
+his tongue. When he spoke he clinched his hands and gazed blankly up
+the glacier toward the sun.
+
+"It was I," he said; "he saved me. I fell—"
+
+"Well?" I demanded.
+
+"Do you see that shoulder of ice on this side of the crevasse, and the
+shelf jutting out opposite?"
+
+I peered over the edge once more. The wall hung slightly out at the top
+and I had a good view of everything beneath. The cleft was not more than
+five feet wide, but, except for the _débris_ lodged below me, it sank
+away into darkness. It may have been a thousand feet deep.
+
+Some twenty feet down the side a ledge, perhaps twelve inches broad,
+started from the wall. Upon the opposite wall, about six feet higher,
+as far as I could estimate, allowing for the foreshortening, there
+was another shelf, considerably broader. Upon it sprang up the stumps
+of two or three heavy icicles that had grown down from an ice-bridge.
+Doubtless, anciently the _débris_ caught below had been part of this
+bridge, and in its fall had carried the upper ends of the icicles with
+it. One end of the shelf slanted up almost to the surface.
+
+I took this in at a glance.
+
+"Yes," I said; "go on."
+
+"I must confess from the beginning," he proceeded, in a curious
+monotone, as if his body, not his mind, were talking, "I doubted your
+judgment of the glacier. The access to the summit was evidently so easy
+that, I thought, some route across would surely open out before us. I
+desired to surprise you; I knew you could easily overtake us. Therefore,
+I set forth. The Eskimos hung back, but I promised them knives if they
+would follow.
+
+"It was easy enough until we came to this crevasse. I attempted to leap
+across, but I slipped and fell. I do not know how it happened, but I
+struck several times and whirled over and over, and felt a blow upon the
+back of my head. It dazed me. When I came to myself I was seated upon
+that ledge, with my back against the wall. The wall slants in, as you
+see, and the outer edge of the ledge is raised, so I was secure.
+
+"But I had only half recovered my senses and I began to cry out for
+help. I was so much disturbed that I didn't know what was going on until
+I saw someone upon the shelf opposite. Then I think I shouted louder.
+Suddenly there came another shock and I should have fallen, but someone
+held me up. It was Daniel. He must have leaped across."
+
+He paused and I looked down again. The ledge, at its broadest barely
+a foot and a half wide, fell away into the wall, not two feet from the
+spot where Praed must have brought up. It was a brave leap.
+
+"Go on," I commanded.
+
+"Daniel laughed at me," resumed the Professor, like a child reading from
+a book, "and waited till I got back some of my self-possession. Then he
+made signs to me to spring across and catch the icicles with my arms. I
+was afraid. He laughed again and made another sign that he would lift
+me across. I let him take me by the knees and lift me until my head
+and waist rose above the shelf, and then I leaned forward and we both
+toppled over. I caught the icicles, and he held me firm and perhaps—I
+don't know—if I had kept still—"
+
+I hastened to steady him.
+
+"What did you do?" I asked. "Keep cool."
+
+"I struggled. I squirmed with my feet in getting up—and kicked him free.
+When I was safe I tried to help him—I meant to help him. But the ledge
+was empty and he lay there."
+
+"Good God!" was all I could say.
+
+We passed the succeeding three hours in dead silence. Praed never moved,
+I think, and never took his eyes from the sky above the _névé_ basin.
+The Eskimos sat quietly beside the grave of their friend. I sprang
+across the crevasse where it narrowed, descended to the shelf with the
+icicles, and mused upon the courage that had dared a leap to that narrow
+footing.
+
+At last the party from the ship arrived with ropes. The leader of the
+Relief Party hastened in advance. His pale face turned red as he saw
+Praed, and he sprang forward with hand outstretched.
+
+"Praed, old fellow!" he exclaimed. "By the Lord, I'm glad to see you
+alive. How did you get out?"
+
+Praed turned toward him. I couldn't see his face, but the leader fell
+back.
+
+"What's the matter?" he said. "What is it?"
+
+"It's an accident," I put in. "Daniel has fallen and is dead."
+
+Then Praed showed the first sign of manliness that I had ever seen in
+him.
+
+"It is my fault," he proclaimed. "I am to blame for his death. I demand
+the right to fetch up his body."
+
+In pity for his evident wretchedness, the leader consented. We lowered
+the Professor by a rope to the heap of trash. But as his weight bore
+upon the block where the body lay, the ice tilted and fell. Daniel fell
+with it. The ringing of icicles on either wall of the glacier lessened
+to a tinkling; the tinkling merged into a sustained harmonic, like the
+final note of some violin sonata. The tone died away. No final crash
+followed. The utmost depths were beyond our hearing.
+
+  [Illustration: I should have fallen but someone held me up—it was
+   Daniel.—Page 295.
+   Drawn by Henry McCarter.]
+
+During most of the voyage home, Praed behaved like a man in a dream. He
+rarely spoke, and when we addressed him he started before he replied.
+Only once did he show any trace of his ancient aggressive manner, and
+that was when someone said a slighting word of an Eskimo.
+
+"The Eskimos," retorted Praed, "are heroes."
+
+That was absurd. Perhaps there are three or four left in the tribe who
+would have done what Daniel did. The Professor was pitiful in his broken
+condition. We deemed him a chastened man.
+
+The other day, however, a member of our old party came to see me. There
+is only one topic of conversation among men who have journeyed to the
+Far North. In the course of our Arctic gossip I asked for news of Praed.
+
+"Haven't you heard?" asked my friend. "He is lecturing through the West.
+He has won a great reputation for his courage in descending into the
+crevasse."
+
+"Hm!" I said, and both of us were silent. We were thinking of a strain
+of ice-music as unearthly as the Theme of the Grail, and of a vast white
+tomb, now doubtless afloat upon some Arctic sea. It bears the body of
+a better man than Praed.
+
+  [Illustration: A hundred feet below ... lay Daniel.—Page 294.]
+
+
+
+
+A SLUMBER-SONG
+
+FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD
+
+By Henry van Dyke
+
+
+     Furl your sail, my little boatie;
+         Here's the harbor, still and deep,
+     Where the dreaming tides, in-streaming,
+             Up the channel creep.
+     See, the sunset breeze is dying;
+     Hark, the plover, landward flying,
+     Softly down the twilight crying;
+         Come to anchor, little boatie,
+             In the port of Sleep.
+
+     Far away, my little boatie,
+         Roaring waves are white with foam;
+     Ships are striving, onward driving,
+             Day and night they roam.
+     Father's at the deep-sea trawling,
+     In the darkness, rowing, hauling,
+     While the hungry winds are calling,—
+         God protect him, little boatie,
+             Bring him safely home!
+
+     Not for you, my little boatie.
+         Is the wide and weary sea;
+     You're too slender, and too tender,
+             You must rest with me.
+     All day long you have been straying
+     Up and down the shore and playing;
+     Come to port, make no delaying!
+         Day is over, little boatie,
+             Night falls suddenly.
+
+     Furl your sail, my little boatie;
+         Fold your wings, my tired dove.
+     Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling
+             Drowsily above.
+     Cease from sailing, cease from rowing;
+     Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing
+     Safely o'er your rest are glowing,
+         All the night, my little boatie,
+             Harbor-lights of love.
+
+     M. COWLES.
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: COME TO ANCHOR, LITTLE BOATIE, IN THE PORT OF SLEEP.]
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: Girl with Tambourine.
+   Painted by George Butler.]
+
+
+
+
+THE PAINTING OF GEORGE BUTLER
+
+By W. C. Brownell
+
+
+The painting of George Butler has the interest of all art that is
+not manifestly the product of the influences of the moment, but owes
+its quality to the personality of the painter. Such is the interest
+of Whistler's, Winslow Homer's, the late Homer Martin's, LaFarge's,
+Vedder's. It is art that has a direct rather than an illustrative
+interest—a real rather than a historical value. It does not contribute
+much to the race, the moment, and the _milieu_ theory. And, of course,
+it suffers some neglect at the present time, which apparently belongs
+to the theoreticians, and when, accordingly, the illustrative and
+historical interest of all data that can contribute to the construction
+of formulary is felt so universally and so nearly exclusively. But the
+play of those forces that are so highly differentiated as to escape
+classification—the forces that make up personality—rewards contemplation
+in quite a different way. It eludes the pursuit of philosophy, but it
+repays the æsthetic attention quite as much, quite as legitimately, as
+the study of that impersonal and rather mechanical result of current
+habits of mind and points of view, the art of the schools. Butler
+was a pupil—long ago—of Couture, and one may still see evidences of
+the fact in his portraits now and then. But compare his relation to
+Couture with that of Sargent to Carolus Duran, for example, in order
+to see how wholly personal his painting is and how little he owes to
+any mere source of acquisition, except in certain means of technical
+expression, early adopted and perhaps rather lazily adhered to.
+Power and distinction such as Sargent's, even when exhibited almost
+solely within the range of technical expression, have certainly an
+individuality of their own that is most striking and admirable. But it
+is an individuality of accomplishment rather than of quality, marked
+more by its eminence of excellence than by its native idiosyncrasy.
+Of course, any intimate association of the two painters would be more
+misleading than illuminating, and in contrasting them in this single
+but fundamental respect I only have in mind the radical difference
+thus illustrated between a painter who has achieved fame by distancing
+competition in following traditional lines and expressing current
+tendencies, and a painter who has a controlling personal bent and has
+followed that.
+
+Butler has, at all events, always done just what he wanted to do,
+and in the strictest sense. His temperament has always dictated his
+expression, and in thoroughly imperious fashion. It may be said,
+indeed, to have dominated his intelligence to the extent, at least, of
+eliminating, as objects of curiosity, interest, or effort, everything
+not strictly in accord with itself. But the result has been the
+felicity of extreme concentration. If in doing what he wanted to do
+his wants have been few, he has, on the other hand, wanted them with
+an intensity proportionate to its singleness. Beauty exhibited in the
+human face and form has absorbed his artistic attention and activity.
+I remember not only no landscapes, but nothing really to be called
+a composition among his works. A few Barye-like animal fragments, of
+heroic mould—a tiger's head, a dog's head and shoulders, the foreparts
+of an extremely leonine lion, some very feline cats—are, I fancy, the
+only diversion of his devotion to the single figure and the portrait,
+and they are but examples of the instinctive exercise of his remarkable
+gift of representation, and show a fine faculty at play rather than
+at work. They do not illustrate the "discipline of genius" as some
+writer has defined art to be, but are merely "artistic" in the sense
+in which artists use the word, _i.e._, born of the impulse to create
+or reproduce an "effect" of some kind. In the portrait and the single
+figure, however, he has expressed himself with freedom, with zest, and
+with completeness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Portraiture is a branch of art in which artistic aptitudes exhibit
+themselves in as individual a way as in any other perhaps, despite
+the preponderance usually assigned to the "likeness." And neither
+_à priori_ nor historically can it be asserted that the imagination
+itself plays in portraiture an inferior part. The material is possibly
+less varied than that of landscape or decorative art; but that is
+nothing. A painter shows his quality quite as much within a limited as
+within a wider range. And the material of portraiture is at least as
+highly differentiated as it is limited. The interest of the "Lesson in
+Anatomy" resides in many of its various pictorial elements no doubt,
+but also and in the supreme degree in what Burger calls "the working of
+intellect," as seen in the countenances of the listening circle around
+the demonstrator. A painter who exhibits himself in portraying human
+intellect, emotions, character, personality, and with these highly
+complicated and maturely developed phenomena shows us his point of view
+and way of looking at things—which are what art and genius mainly are,
+according to Mr. Henry James—has an opportunity certainly of doing so
+on a very high plane. And on such a plane Butler is, I think, very much
+at home. The quality that all his portraits show in common is displayed
+with perfect freedom and the effect only to be attained by the easy
+exercise of a native gift.
+
+In the first place they are extremely human. They are in no degree
+portraits _à la mode_ and do not exploit the painter's virtuosity.
+They show, on the contrary, his respect for, and interest in, his
+model. One establishes relations through them with their originals.
+They have character in the moral and intellectual, as well as in the
+artistic sense. They acquire in this way a typical value. The Century
+Club's portrait of General Greene is also a portrait of the American
+soldier, as many another, easily mentioned, is that of the American
+lady. They are intellectually generalized, that is to say, endowed with
+a wider than merely individual interest. In the second place they are
+extremely pictorial. The most intractable subject is made agreeable
+by being handled with a touch directed by an instinctive preference
+for, and delight in, the beautiful. The sitter receives the benefit
+of a translation into a heightened and poetized medium without loss
+of anything essentially characteristic. In both these respects—their
+humanity and their pictorial quality—Butler's portraits are decidedly
+exceptional in current art.
+
+Current art is certainly concentrated upon physical character rather
+than upon beauty, and current appreciation of it is in harmonious
+accord with its realistic effort and aim. One may refine speculation
+to the point of asserting that there is no opposition, essentially
+considered, between the two; that Rembrandt is as distinguished for
+his beauty as Raphael, and that on the other hand there is as much
+character in "The School of Athens" as in the "Lesson in Anatomy."
+But in matters of this kind terms are approximate only, and the fact
+that definition is a difficult matter does not obscure the plain truth
+that a marked difference exists between the work of a painter in whose
+mind an agreeable conception of an object mirrors itself, and that
+of one mainly anxious to be exact. Technic has spread prodigiously
+(quite as much perhaps as it has developed) in the present epoch, and
+has become rather arrogant in its aggrandizement. Criticism, too, in
+becoming largely technical has assisted the tendency, so far as it
+exerts an influence on practice. It has grown tired, no doubt, of its
+own commonplaces and generalities, its easy habit of estimating aims
+rather than accomplishment, its routine insensitiveness to aspect and
+perfunctory absorption in significance. But in assuming the painter's
+point of view—not a very esoteric one, certainly—it has not been quite
+self-respectfully discriminating enough to avoid the purely professional
+attitude. And it is perhaps time for the pendulum to swing back again
+a little, so that both in estimating and in enjoying the painter's art
+we may once more think of its intellectual rather than so wholly of
+its mechanical side, which latter we may also be sure, nowadays, will
+be quite carefully, and in many cases competently, attended to by the
+painters themselves.
+
+In this way, at any rate, having in mind Butler's portraits, we shall
+be able, whether or no they have the accent and relief requisite for
+a portrait of the striking or "stunning" order—in this way we shall be
+able to appreciate what a fine talent it predicates to say of a painter
+that he sees the finest side of his subject. This is often understood
+as lightly as it is said, and taken to indicate merely a preference
+for the agreeable to the more markedly characteristic. And this is no
+doubt especially true in the field of portraiture. But certainly, and
+especially in portraiture, very little reflection is needed to show
+one that the great peril to be avoided, and the most constant menace,
+is caricature of one sort or another. It may be the caricature that
+comes from imperfectly seizing and imperfectly rendering the traits
+of the subject, the caricature that inadequacy is. Or it may be that
+which comes from undue and disproportionate accentuation of what is
+perceived too exclusively. Success depends upon avoiding both by forming
+a correspondent conception of the subject—a conception that is clear and
+consistent and positive—and painting that. The painter then copies his
+conception, not his model, and the representative value of his portrait
+will have precisely the interest of his conception—in so far, of course,
+as he is able to convey it. In a sense, to be sure, it may be said that
+it is impossible to paint a portrait without proceeding in this way,
+without first forming a conception of the sitter plastically, if not
+morally; that the result is necessarily the product of some preliminary
+conception. But that is metaphysical fine-spinning. Empirically we all
+know that unconscious caricature—which is the caricature here referred
+to—is due to either a defective or a distorted conception, in other
+words, to a mental image either so faint or so little correspondent to
+the original as to be practically no conception at all. Of a very large
+number of portraits, assuredly, it may be asserted that they embody
+no more developed and complete an antecedent image in the mind of the
+painter than a mere mechanical impression, barely distinct enough to
+direct the muscular movements requisite to register it upon canvas.
+
+Butler's conception is, as I have intimated, always very sympathetically
+formed. It seems to indicate that he likes the sitter. His own
+cordiality enters into it. It is a result of harmonious relations
+between his imagination and the sitter's nature—the qualities, as well
+as the appearance, of the subject. Landscape painting, says Eugène
+Véron, is "the painting of one's emotions in the presence of nature."
+Butler's portraits, similarly, seem the painting of his idea of the
+subject in its suggestive, stimulating, rectifying presence. His
+conception implies a certain slowness of formation—the time to become
+acquainted, at least. That of such a painter as Sargent is so rapid
+as to seem quite impersonal, in comparison. It is apparently formed so
+quickly as to be really an impression rather than a conception at all.
+Though occasionally plainly transitory, it is often wonderfully vivid
+and searching, but rarely does it attest that assimilation which is a
+necessary preliminary of synthesis of such complexity as the conception
+of an active personality is entitled to. Its qualities are fundamentally
+"artistic." Butler's is at the same time more mature and less objective.
+Sargent's _grandes dames_, for example, are always fine ladies, but
+Butler's portraits of women have, all of them, whatever the sitter's
+type, the patrician look. Yet they are noble rather than elegant, and
+simple in their refinement. Their graciousness is native, and there is
+something ample in the ease with which they carry themselves. Add to
+this a poetic strain that characterizes very intimately their unaffected
+naturalness and gives them a universal as well as a specific interest,
+making of them abiding works of art.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Italian type, which almost all his single figures illustrate, has
+had a particular charm for Butler—as the accompanying illustrations
+attest. And to its interpretation he has brought a remarkable and
+an instinctive sympathy. Stendhal would have liked his Italian
+figures—Stendhal, who better than any other writer, perhaps, has
+understood the Italian national character in its nobility as well as
+its finesse. Its finesse has not interested Butler, as indeed it could
+hardly interest a painter of his frank nature, and it is not, of course,
+a particularly paintable quality, though it must be confessed that
+Velasquez made something of it in his Innocent X. of the Doria Gallery.
+But its nobility, its largeness, its elemental and untormented quality,
+its freedom from pettiness and perplexities, its naturalness, its frank
+following of the dictates of will and passion, unsophisticated by the
+restraints and complications of vanity or self-consciousness in any of
+its myriad forms—can be read in Butler's Capri peasants as in a book.
+Health and vigor, an animation that is not feverish or hardly alert,
+the charm of pensiveness without sadness, of repose without revery, of
+work without strain, and existence without effort, they show in every
+expression of their large lines and simple, graceful attitudes. Now and
+then from the face shines a beautiful soul, its innocence untouched by
+experience and acquiring an almost pathetic quality from its unworldly,
+yet by no means spiritual serenity. They win your admiration and
+your heart. They have infinite capacities of feeling, of loving, of
+wilfulness, of self-sacrifice. They have been refined but not corrupted
+by their not too close or too reciprocal contact with civilization.
+They are all of a piece, and one comprehends the tragedy that excess
+would mean for them. In their way they are the acme of poetry and
+beauty expressed in character that has a wonderful correspondence to
+the envelope of its plastic manifestation. "I would rather," exclaimed
+once a friend of mine—a lady, naturally—"I would rather know one Jew
+than forty Gentiles, they have so much more _character_." Character in
+this sense the Italians possess in effusion, so to speak, and Butler's
+Capriotes and Venetians exhibit it with a native dignity and charm that
+one has only to think of such contrasts as Bastien-Lepage's, or even
+Millet's, peasants (far more interesting in many other respects, of
+course) to appreciate.
+
+Some of them are beautifully painted, as all are sympathetically
+understood. The elder of the two boys here reproduced is an especially
+lovely bit of handling, of quality, of clarity in the gently gradated
+tones. A Capri woman seated in a straight-backed chair upon a homespun
+carpet making lace, is very nearly a marvel in the same way—a figure
+that painters themselves are particularly pleased with. The blue dress,
+the white bodice, the dark face and hands, the blue-black hair, the
+greenish background, and the gray and red carpet compose largely in
+masses of importance, and are painted with a liquid and _luisant_ effect
+that is nevertheless as far as possible from a blended and effeminate
+one. The touch is firmer, perhaps, more positive and vigorous,
+certainly, in the Venetian water-carrier here engraved, though it is
+equally distant from anything brutal, and the brush is restrained by
+refinement within the lines of true distinction, with the result that
+the reader may discern even in black and white. Is she not a majestic
+creature—for pictorial purposes, at all events? Pictorially, at least,
+she is superb. This is what a painter of genuine temperament and an
+instinct for character can make out of a bare-headed girl lugging a
+jar of water. One perceives at once the vitality and completeness of
+Butler's purely plastic impressions.
+
+So vital and complete indeed are his plastic impressions that they
+explain, I think, his fondness for the single figure, his carelessness
+for composition. It may be argued from this fondness that his talent
+is an impressionable rather than an imaginative one; that his plastic
+exceeds his architectonic faculty. But to argue this is to miss an
+important side of his art. He does not, it is true, see things in their
+relations so much as in their essence. The genius for image-making, for
+originating conceptions of complex and interdependent interest, for
+composition, in a word, he certainly does not possess in any marked
+degree, or we should have had from him at least some experimentation
+in this sort. But it is remarkable how little, in looking at one of his
+noble figures, one feels this as a limitation, how close an equivalent
+he gives us for it. He has comprehended his model so thoroughly, and
+realized it so perfectly; he has conveyed the character itself so
+essentially, so subtly, and so intimately, merely in presenting its
+plastic phenomena, that he has amply _suggested_ its characteristic
+environment and everything related to it that, in an elaborate
+composition of which it should be the centre, might contribute to its
+completer expression and relief. It does not look in the least like
+the study for a figure in some picture or other. It is a picture in
+itself. We do not get the pleasure that the pictorial presentation of
+this contributory environment would give us; we forego the sensuous
+delight that composition is capable of affording; but the striking thing
+about Butler's single figures is that they themselves so impress the
+imagination as to make us forget that they are unaided by accessories.
+One may add, by the way, the not impertinent corollary that it
+would be difficult to find among contemporary painters one who could
+satisfactorily supply this omission on the same plane of conception and
+workmanship.
+
+  [Illustration: Portrait.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Butler's color is one of the prominent qualities of his painting. It is
+extremely full and rich, at the same time that it is quiet and grave.
+Color as color interests him, plainly, and he does not leave it to
+take care of itself, as is a frequent practice at the present time,
+when painters seem largely to have given over the illustration of its
+decorative possibilities and to be devoting themselves either to the
+value or the vibration, instead of the quality, of their color. On the
+one hand, the prevailing middle tint that is _obviously_ middle tint,
+and, on the other, the high key of luminosity that is obviously mere
+pitch instead of melody, make such canvases as Butler's seem, perhaps,
+a trifle old-fashioned. How long is it since Titian was mentioned in a
+modern studio except as a subject of interest to the antiquarian? The
+practitioner who, twenty-five years ago, was endeavoring to divine his
+"secret," perhaps abandoning the quest as hopeless, has exchanged his
+atmosphere for one more rarefied, where, if the prospect is considerably
+more arid, there is correspondingly less demand on the vital forces.
+The lack in Butler's work of the current display of machinery—which
+is what an exclusive devotion to values or vibration may not unfairly
+be called—the lack of this inversion of the normal relations between
+means and ends, is not felt particularly, I fancy, by anyone but
+the professional practitioner. His low key and his unconcern for
+illustrating the potentialities of pure technic _à propos de bottes_,
+enable him to exhibit, very charmingly, his feeling for color in and
+for itself.
+
+  [Illustration: Roman Boy.]
+
+This gives his work an agreeable element of contrast to that most
+in vogue. One of his canvases is a welcome sight in a contemporary
+exhibition for this reason alone. A disproportionate devotion to color
+means the loss of many admirable sources of pleasure in art, beyond
+any doubt. And in the main these are especially admirable, because they
+are intellectual sources rather than sensuous. But the content of art
+is beauty, and beauty implies sensuousness, and in painting there is
+no such source of sensuous impression as color. A feeling for it is
+shared alike by the savage and the civilized man, and no doubt there is
+something barbarous in the delight which certain of its manifestations
+inspire. But this fact in itself shows the elemental and universal
+quality of this feeling and exhibits it as a mark of temperament. An
+acute or profound sense of its intimate appeal has characterized all
+epochs of expansion in the history of art, and its neglect has been
+the invariable accompaniment of that petrifaction by system which has
+assailed art at its every apogee. It is so sensitive as well as so
+elemental that it has suffered neglect as well in the development as in
+the decay of art; in the admirable evolution of Florentine line and mass
+following the lovely harmonies of Giottesque color, as well as in the
+sterilities succeeding the high Renaissance. It is the sign-manual of
+the spirit of invention, of imagination, of novelty, of free exercise of
+the faculties; and it individualizes the painter more sharply, perhaps,
+than any other characteristic. Color is his short-cut to sentiment, his
+most eloquent expression, his readiest means of communicating emotion.
+More than his style one may say that his color is the man.
+
+  [Illustration: Match Seller.
+   Painted by George Butler.]
+
+  [Illustration: Portrait.]
+
+Butler's feeling for color is not feeling for its subtleties. It is a
+broad and tranquil delight in its simpler effects. He is not fond of
+hues and tints, of gradations and oppositions, of jewel-like harmonies
+and delicate flushes, of iridescence and sheen and sparkle. His color
+is the suave and sweet vibration of tone, now rich and deep, now clear
+and soft, but vibrating mainly near the primaries. Its distinction is
+that it is always _color_; that one of his canvases nowhere loses its
+music, so to say, and becomes mere sound. Locally, it is always treated
+in large masses, giving the eye repose rather than stimulus, and the
+general harmony is correspondingly large. He sees things in color,
+evidently, which is very different from seeing color in things, as also
+from not seeing color at all. It is through their color that his figures
+acquire their solidity and firmness—a greater relief than they would
+have, perhaps, if wholly dependent on justness of value. Their color
+is so pervasive and penetrating, it characterizes and expresses them
+so forcibly, it is so emphatically the instrument of their realization,
+that without it they would lose identity.
+
+It is difficult, for instance, to judge of the "Girl with Tambourine"
+minus the rich glow that pervades the orange background, warms the
+olive of the soft, smiling countenance, the plump neck, the slender
+arm and hand, and mellows the brown and red of the _contadina_ costume.
+Reduced to black and white, with its values as carefully preserved as
+has been essayed in the accompanying reproduction, it unfailingly loses,
+in some measure, its reality, its roundness, its "tactile values"—to
+employ Mr. Berenson's favorite term. Scientifically speaking, this
+perhaps involves a contradiction since, speaking thus, "tactile values"
+depend upon the light and dark relations of color, and not upon its
+kind or quality. But the kind and quality of color have such power
+over the emotions, and leave such a lively impress on the retina that,
+practically and concretely, they serve to increase wonderfully the sense
+of a picture's substantiality at the same time that, and in virtue of
+the fact that, they increase the vivacity of the beholder's interest. Is
+it not possible that this consideration has been somewhat lost sight of
+in the logic that dictates the practice of much current painting? The
+old masters are there to show what a loss in mere substantiality, in
+weight and force, the neglect of color involves. Indeed, the "valueless"
+coach-panel painting of the English pre-Raphaelites points a similar
+moral, and perhaps accounts for the revival of interest in it. As to
+color as a vehicle for the communication of poetry, there is, of course,
+nowhere any dispute. Poetry implies personal feeling, and in no way
+can feeling be expressed more personally than in color. And if Butler's
+color, as well as his sympathetic interpretation of character, makes his
+canvases contrast, in a way that may be stigmatized as "old-fashioned,"
+with the colorlessness and the brutality that abound, one may properly
+retort that the limitedness of the _laudator temporis acti_ is
+clairvoyance itself compared with the partisanship of the pedant of the
+present.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY ANN
+
+By Joel Chandler Harris
+
+"WHEN JESS WENT A-FIDDLIN'"
+
+
+Sitting on the veranda one summer day, ruminating over other people's
+troubles, and wondering how womankind can invent and discover so many
+things to fret and vex them, I was surprised to hear someone yelling at
+the gate, "You-all got any bitin' dogs here?" I was surprised, because
+the voice failed to match the serenity of the suburban scene. Its tone
+was unsuited to the surroundings, being pitched a trifle too high.
+Before I could make any reply the gate was flung open, and the owner of
+the voice, who was no other than Aunt Minervy Ann, flirted in and began
+to climb the terrace. My recognition of her was not immediate, for she
+wore her Sunday toggery, in which, following the oriental instincts of
+her race, the reds and yellows were emphasized with startling effect.
+She began to talk by the time she was half-way between the house and
+gate, and it was owing to this special and particular volubility that
+I was able to recognize her.
+
+"Huh!" she exclaimed, "hit's des like clim'in' up sta'rs. Folks what
+live here bleeze ter b'long ter de Sons er Tempunce." There was a
+relish about this reference to the difficulties of three terraces that
+at once identified Aunt Minervy Ann. More than that, one of the most
+conspicuous features of the country town where she lived was a large
+brick building, covering half a block, across the top of which stretched
+a sign—"Temperance Hall"—in letters that could be read a quarter of a
+mile away.
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann received a greeting that seemed to please her,
+whereupon she explained that an excursion had come to Atlanta from her
+town, and she had seized the opportunity to pay me a visit. "I tol'
+um," said she, "dat dey could stay up in town dar an' hang 'roun' de
+kyar-shed ef dey wanter, but here's what wuz gwine ter come out an' see
+whar you live at."
+
+She was informed that, though she was welcome, she would get small
+pleasure from her visit. The cook had failed to make her appearance,
+and the lady of the house was at that moment in the kitchen and in a
+very fretful state of mind, not because she had to cook, but because
+she had about reached the point where she could place no dependence in
+the sisterhood of colored cooks.
+
+"Is she in de kitchen now?" Aunt Minervy's tone was a curious mixture
+of amusement and indignation. "I started not ter come, but I had a call,
+I sho' did; sump'n tol' me dat you mought need me out here." With that,
+she went into the house, slamming the screen-door after her, and untying
+her bonnet as she went.
+
+Now, the lady of the house had heard of Aunt Minervy Ann, but had never
+met her, and I was afraid that the characteristics of my old-time friend
+would be misunderstood, and misinterpreted. The lady in question knew
+nothing of the negro race until long after emancipation, and she had
+not been able to form a very favorable opinion of its representatives.
+Therefore, I hastened after Aunt Minervy Ann, hoping to tone down by
+explanation whatever bad impression she might create. She paused at
+the screen-door that barred the entrance to the kitchen, and, for an
+instant, surveyed the scene within. Then she cried out:
+
+"You des ez well ter come out'n dat kitchen! You ain't got no mo'
+bizness in dar dan a new-born baby."
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann's voice was so loud and absolute that the lady gazed at
+her in mute astonishment. "You des ez well ter come out!" she insisted.
+
+"Are you crazy?" the lady asked in all seriousness.
+
+"I'm des ez crazy now ez I ever been; an' I tell you you des ez well
+ter come out'n dar."
+
+"Who are you anyhow?"
+
+"I'm Minervy Ann Perdue, at home an' abroad, an' in dish yer great town
+whar you can't git niggers ter cook fer you."
+
+"Well, if you want me to come out of the kitchen, you will have to come
+in and do the cooking."
+
+"Dat 'zackly what I'm gwine ter do!" exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. She
+went into the kitchen, demanded an apron, and took entire charge. "I'm
+mighty glad I come 'fo' you got started," she said, "'kaze you got 'nuff
+fier in dis stove fer ter barbecue a hoss; an' you got it so hot in here
+dat it's a wonder you ain't bust a blood-vessel."
+
+She removed all the vessels from the range, and opened the door of the
+furnace so that the fire might die down. And when it was nearly out—as
+I was told afterward—she replaced the vessels and proceeded to cook a
+dinner which, in all its characteristics, marked a red letter day in
+the household.
+
+"She's the best cook in the country," said the lady, "and she's not
+polite."
+
+"Polite! Well, if she was polite, she'd be a hypocrite, and if she was
+a hypocrite, she wouldn't be Aunt Minervy Ann."
+
+The cook failed to come in the afternoon, and so Aunt Minervy Ann felt
+it her duty to remain over night. "Hamp'll vow I done run away wid
+somebody," she said, laughing, "but I don't keer what he think."
+
+After supper, which was as good as the dinner had been, Aunt Minervy Ann
+came out on the veranda and sat on the steps. After some conversation,
+she placed the lady of the house on the witness-stand.
+
+"Mistiss, wharbouts in Georgy wuz you born at?"
+
+"I wasn't born in Georgia; I was born in Lansingburgh, New York."
+
+"I know'd it!" Aunt Minervy turned to me and nodded her head with
+energy. "I know'd it right pine blank!"
+
+"You knew what?" the presiding genius of the household inquires with
+some curiosity.
+
+"I know'd 'm dat you wuz a Northron lady."
+
+"I don't see how you knew it," I remarked.
+
+"Well, suh, she talk like we-all do, an' she got mighty much de same
+ways. But when I went out dar dis mornin' an' holler at 'er in de
+kitchen, I know'd by de way she turn 'roun' on me dat she ain't been
+brung up wid niggers. Ef she'd 'a' been a Southron lady, she'd 'a'
+laughed an' said, "Come in here an' cook dis dinner yo'se'f, you ole
+vilyun,' er she'd 'a' come out an' crackt me over de head wid dat i'on
+spoon what she had in her han'."
+
+I could perceive a vast amount of acuteness in the observation, but
+I said nothing, and, after a considerable pause, Aunt Minervy Ann
+remarked:
+
+"Dey er lots er mighty good folks up dar"—indicating the North—"some
+I've seed wid my own eyes an' de yuthers I've heern talk un. Mighty
+fine folks, an' dey say dey mighty sorry fer de niggers. But I'll
+tell um all anywhar, any day, dat I'd lots druther dey'd be good ter
+me dan ter be sorry fer me. You know dat ar white lady what Marse Tom
+Chippendale married? Her pa come down here ter he'p de niggers, an' he
+done it de best he kin, but Marse Tom's wife can't b'ar de sight un um.
+She won't let um go in her kitchen, she won't let um go in her house,
+an' she don't want um nowhars 'roun'. I don't blame 'er much myse'f,
+bekaze it look like dat de niggers what been growin' up sence freedom
+is des tryin' der han' fer ter see how no 'count dey kin be. Dey'll git
+better—dey er bleeze ter git better, 'kaze dey can't git no wuss."
+
+Here came another pause, which continued until Aunt Minervy Ann, turning
+her head toward me, asked if I knew the lady that Jesse Towers married;
+and before I had time to reply with certainty, she went on:
+
+"No, suh, you des can't know 'er. She ain't come dar twel sev'mty, an'
+I mos' know you ain't see 'er dat time you went down home ter de fair,
+'kaze she wa'n't gwine out dat year. Well, she wuz a Northron lady. I
+come mighty nigh tellin' you 'bout 'er whence you wuz at de fair, but
+fus' one thing an' den anudder jumped in de way; er maybe 'twuz too new
+ter be goshup'd 'roun' right den. But de way she come ter be dar an' de
+way it all turn out beats any er dem tales what de ol' folks use ter
+tell we childun. I may not know all de ins an' outs, but what I does
+know I knows mighty well, 'kaze de young 'oman tol' me herse'f right
+out 'er own mouf.
+
+"Fus' an' fo'mus', dar wuz ol' Gabe Towers. He wuz dar, whence you wuz
+dar, an' long time 'fo' dat. You know'd him, sho', 'kaze he wuz one er
+dem kinder men what sticks out fum de res' like a waggin' tongue. Not
+dat he wuz any better'n anybody else, but he had dem kinder ways what
+make folks talk 'bout 'im an' 'pen' on 'im. I dunner 'zackly what de
+ways wuz, but I knows dat whatsomever ol' Gabe Towers say an' do, folks
+'d nod der head an' say an' do de same. An' me 'long er de res'. He had
+dem kinder ways 'bout 'im, an' 'twa'n't no use talkin'."
+
+In these few words, Aunt Minervy conjured up in my mind the memory
+of one of the most remarkable men I had ever known. He was tall, with
+iron-gray hair. His eyes were black and brilliant, his nose slightly
+curved, and his chin firm without heaviness. To this day Gabriel Towers
+stands out in my admiration foremost among all the men I have ever
+known. He might have been a great statesman; he would have been great
+in anything to which he turned his hand. But he contented himself with
+instructing smaller men, who were merely politicians, and with sowing
+and reaping on his plantation. More than one senator went to him for
+ideas with which to make a reputation.
+
+His will seemed to dominate everybody with whom he came in contact,
+not violently, but serenely and surely, and as a matter of course.
+Whether this was due to his age—he was sixty-eight when I knew him,
+having been born in the closing year of the eighteenth century—or
+to his moral power, or to his personal magnetism, it is hardly worth
+while to inquire. Major Perdue said that the secret of his influence
+was common-sense, and this is perhaps as good an explanation as any.
+The immortality of Socrates and Plato should be enough to convince
+us that common-sense is almost as inspiring as the gift of prophecy.
+To interpret Aunt Minervy Ann in this way is merely to give a correct
+report of what occurred on the veranda, for explanation of this kind
+was necessary to give the lady of the house something like a familiar
+interest in the recital.
+
+"Yes, suh," Aunt Minervy Ann went on, "he had dem kinder ways 'bout 'im,
+an' whatsomever he say you can't shoo it off like you would a hen on de
+gyarden fence. Dar 'twuz an' dar it stayed.
+
+"Well, de time come when ol' Marse Gabe had a gran'son, an' he name 'im
+Jesse in 'cordance wid de Bible. Jesse grow'd an' grow'd twel he got ter
+be a right smart chunk uv a boy, but he wa'n't no mo' like de Towerses
+dan he wuz like de Chippendales, which he wa'n't no kin to. He tuck
+atter his ma, an' who his ma tuck atter I'll never tell you, 'kaze Bill
+Henry Towers married 'er way off yander somers. She wuz purty but puny,
+yit puny ez she wuz she could play de peanner by de hour, an' play it
+mo' samer dan de man what make it.
+
+"Well, suh, Jesse tuck atter his ma in looks, but 'stidder playin'
+de peanner, he l'arnt how ter play de fiddle, an' by de time he wuz
+twelve year ol', he could make it talk. Hit's de fatal trufe, suh; he
+could make it talk. You hear folks playin' de fiddle, an' you know what
+dey doin'; you kin hear de strings a-plunkin' an' you kin hear de bow
+raspin' on um on 'count de rozzum, but when Jesse Towers swiped de bow
+cross his fiddle, 'twa'n't no fiddle—'twuz human; I ain't tellin' you
+no lie, suh, 'twuz human. Dat chile could make yo' heart ache; he could
+fetch yo' sins up befo' you. Don't tell me! many an' many a night when
+I hear Jesse Towers playin', I could shet my eyes an' hear my childun
+cryin', dem what been dead an' buried long time ago. Don't make no
+diffunce 'bout de chune, reel, jig, er promenade, de human cryin' wuz
+behime all un um.
+
+"Bimeby, Jesse got so dat he didn't keer nothin' 'tall 'bout books. It
+uz fiddle, fiddle, all day long, an' half de night ef dey'd let 'im.
+Den folks 'gun ter talk. No need ter tell you what all dey say. De worl'
+over, fum what I kin hear, dey got de idee dat a fiddle is a free pass
+ter whar ole Scratch live at. Well, suh, Jesse got so he'd run away fum
+school an' go off in de woods an' play his fiddle. Hamp use ter come
+'pon 'im when he haulin' wood, an' he say dat fiddle ain't soun' no mo'
+like de fiddles what you hear in common dan a flute soun' like a bass
+drum.
+
+"Now you know yo'se'f, suh, dat dis kinder doin's ain't gwine ter suit
+Marse Gabe Towers. Time he hear un it, he put his foot down on fiddler,
+an' fiddle, an' fiddlin'. Ez you may say, he sot down on de fiddle an'
+smash it. Dis happen when Jesse wuz sixteen year ol', an' by dat time
+he wuz mo' in love wid de fiddle dan what he wuz wid his gran'daddy.
+An' so dar 'twuz. He ain't look like it, but Jesse wuz in about ez high
+strung ez his fiddle wuz, an' when his gran'daddy laid de law down, he
+sol' out his pony an' buggy an' made his disappearance fum dem parts.
+
+"Well, suh, 'twa'n't so mighty often you'd hear sassy talk 'bout Marse
+Gabe Towers, but you could hear it den. Folks is allers onreasonable
+wid dem dey like de bes'; you know dat yo'se'f, suh. Marse Gabe ain't
+make no 'lowance fer Jesse, an' folks ain't make none fer Marse Gabe.
+Marse Tumlin wuz dat riled wid de man dat dey come mighty nigh havin'
+a fallin' out. Dey had a splutter 'bout de time when sump'n n'er had
+happen, an' atter dey wrangle a little, Marse Tumlin sot de date by
+sayin' dat 'twuz 'a year 'fo' de day when Jess went a-fiddlin'.' Dat
+sayin' kindled de fier, suh, an it spread fur an' wide. Marse Tom
+Chippendale say dat folks what never is hear tell er de Towerses went
+'roun' talkin' 'bout 'de time when Jess went a-fiddlin'.'"
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann chuckled over this, probably because she regarded it
+as a sort of victory for Major Tumlin Perdue. She went on:
+
+"Yes, suh, 'twuz a by-word wid de childun. No matter what happen, er
+when it happen, er ef 'tain't happen, 'twuz 'fo' er atter 'de day when
+Jess went a-fiddlin'.' Hit look like dat Marse Gabe sorter drapt a notch
+or two in folks' min's. Yit he helt his head dez ez high. He bleeze ter
+hol' it high, 'kaze he had in 'im de blood uv bofe de Tumlins an' de
+Perdues; I dunner how much, but 'nuff fer ter keep his head up.
+
+"I ain't no almanac, suh, but I never is ter fergit de year when Jess
+went a-fiddlin'. 'Twuz sixty, 'kaze de nex' year de war 'gun ter bile,
+an' 'twa'n't long 'fo' it biled over. Yes, suh! dar wuz de war come on
+an' Jesse done gone. Dey banged aloose, dey did, dem on der side, an'
+we on our'n, an' dey kep' on a bangin' twel we-all can't bang no mo'.
+An' den de war hushed up, an' freedom come, an' still nobody ain't hear
+tell er Jesse. Den you come down dar, suh, an' stay what time you did;
+still nobody ain't hear tell er Jesse. He mought er writ ter his ma,
+but ef he did, she kep' it mighty close. Marse Gabe ain't los' no flesh
+'bout it, an' ef he los' any sleep on account er Jess, he ain't never
+brag 'bout it.
+
+"Well, suh, it went on dis away twel, ten year atter Jess went
+a-fiddlin', his wife come home. Yes, suh! His wife! Well! I wuz stan'in'
+right in de hall talkin' wid Miss Fanny—dat's Jesse's ma—when she
+come, an' when de news broke on me you could 'a' knockt me down wid a
+per-meter fan. De house-gal show'd 'er in de parler, an' den come atter
+Miss Fanny. Miss Fanny she went in dar, an' I stayed outside talkin'
+wid de house-gal. De gal say, 'Aunt Minervy Ann, dey sho' is sump'n
+n'er de matter wid dat white lady. She white ez any er de dead, an' she
+can't git 'er breff good.' 'Bout dat time, I hear somebody cry out in
+de parler, an' den I hear sump'n fall. De house-gal cotch holt er me
+an' 'gun ter whimper. I shuck 'er off, I did, an' went right straight
+in de parler, an' dar wuz Miss Fanny layin' face fo'mus' on a sofy wid
+a letter in 'er han' an' de white lady sprawled out on de flo'.
+
+"Well, suh, you can't skeer me wid trouble, 'kaze I done see too much;
+so I shuck Miss Fanny by de arm an' ax 'er what de matter, an' she cry
+out, 'Jesse's dead an' his wife come home.' She uz plum heart-broke,
+suh, an' I speck I wuz blubberin' some myse'f when Marse Gabe walkt in,
+but I wuz tryin' ter work wid de white lady on de flo'. 'Twix' Marse
+Gabe an' Miss Fanny, 'twuz sho'ly a tryin' time. When one er dem hard
+an' uppity men lose der grip on deyse'f, dey turn loose ever'thing, an'
+dat wuz de way wid Marse Gabe. When dat de case, sump'n n'er got ter be
+done, an' it got ter be done mighty quick."
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann paused here and rubbed her hands together
+contemplatively, as if trying to restore the scene more completely to
+her memory.
+
+"You know how loud I kin talk, suh, when I'm min' ter. Well, I talk
+loud den an' dar. I 'low, 'What you-all doin'? Is you gwine ter let
+Marse Jesse's wife lay here an' die des 'kaze he dead? Ef you is, I'll
+des go on whar I b'longs at!' Dis kinder fotch um 'roun', an' 'twa'n't
+"no time 'fo' we had de white lady in de bed whar Jesse use ter sleep
+at, an' soon's we got 'er cuddled down in it, she come 'roun'. But she
+wuz in a mighty bad fix. She wanter git up an' go off, an' 'twuz all I
+could do fer ter keep 'er in bed. She done like she wuz plum distracted.
+Dey wa'n't skacely a minit fer long hours, an' dey wuz mighty long uns,
+suh, dat she wa'n't moanin' an' sayin' dat she wa'n't gwine ter stay,
+an' she hope de Lord'd fergive 'er. I tell you, suh, 'twuz tarryfyin'.
+I shuck nex' day des like folks do when dey are honin' atter dram.
+
+"You may ax me how come I ter stay dar," Aunt Minervy Ann suggested with
+a laugh. "Well, suh, 'twa'n't none er my doin's. I speck dey mus' be
+sump'n wrong 'bout me, 'kaze no matter how rough I talk ner how ugly I
+look, sick folks an' childun allers takes up wid me. When I go whar dey
+is, it's mighty hard fer ter git 'way fum um. So, when I say ter Jesse's
+wife, 'Keep still, honey, an' I'll go home an' not pester you,' she sot
+up in bed an' say ef I gwine she gwine too. I say, 'Nummine 'bout me,
+honey, you lay down dar an' don't talk too much.' She 'low, 'Le' me talk
+ter you an' tell you all 'bout it.' But I shuck my head an' say dat ef
+she don't hush up an' keep still I'm gwine right home.
+
+"I had ter do 'er des like she wuz a baby, suh. She wa'n't so mighty
+purty, but she had purty ways, 'stracted ez she wuz, an' de biggest
+black eyes you mos' ever seed, an' black curly ha'r cut short kinder
+like our folks use ter w'ar der'n. Den de house-gal fotched some tea an'
+toas', an' dis holp 'er up mightly, an' atter dat I sont ter Marse Gabe
+fer some dram, an' de gal fotched de decanter fum de sidebode. Bein',
+ez you may say, de nurse, I tuck an' tas'e er de dram fer ter make sho'
+dat nobody ain't put nothin' in it. An', sho' 'nuff, dey ain't."
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann paused and smacked her lips. "Atter she got de vittles
+an' de dram, she sorter drap off ter sleep, but 'twuz a mighty flighty
+kinder sleep. She'd wake wid a jump des 'zackly like babies does, an'
+den she'd moan an' worry twel she dozed off ag'in. I nodded, suh, bekaze
+you can't set me down in a cheer, night er day, but what I'll nod, but
+in betwix' an' betweens I kin hear Marse Gabe Towers walkin' up an' down
+in de liberry; walk, walk; walk, walk, up an' down. I speck ef I'd 'a'
+been one er de nervious an' flighty kin' dey'd 'a' had to tote me out
+er dat house de nex' day; but me! I des kep' on a-noddin'.
+
+"Bimeby, I hear sump'n come swishin' 'long, an' in walkt Miss Fanny. I
+tell you now, suh, ef I'd a met 'er comin' down de road, I'd 'a' made
+a break fer de bushes, she look so much like you know sperrets oughter
+look—an' Marse Jesse's wife wuz layin' dar wid 'er eyes wide open. She
+sorter swunk back in de bed when she see Miss Fanny, an' cry out, 'Oh,
+I'm mighty sorry fer ter trouble you; I'm gwine 'way in de mornin'.'
+Miss Fanny went ter de bed an' knelt down 'side it, an' 'low, 'No, youer
+gwine no whar but right in dis house. Yo' place is here, wid his mudder
+an' his gran'fadder.' Wid dat, Marse Jesse's wife put her face in de
+piller an' moan an' cry, twel I hatter ax Miss Fanny fer ter please,
+ma'm, go git some res'.
+
+"Well, suh, I stayed dar dat night an' part er de nex' day, an' by dat
+time all un um wuz kinder quieted down, but dey wuz mighty res'less in
+demin', speshually Marse Jesse's wife, which her name wuz Miss Sadie.
+It seem like dat Marse Jesse wuz livin' at a town up dar in de fur
+North whar dey wuz a big lake, an' he went out wid one er dem 'scursion
+parties, an' a storm come up an' shuck de boat ter pieces. Dat what
+make I say what I does. I don't min' gwine on 'scursions on de groun',
+but when it come ter water—well, suh, I ain't gwine ter trus' myse'f
+on water twel I kin walk on it an' not wet my foots. Marse Jesse wuz
+de Captain uv a music-ban' up dar, an' de papers fum dar had some long
+pieces 'bout 'im, an' de paper at home had a piece 'bout 'im. It say he
+wuz one er de mos' renounced music-makers what yever had been, an' dat
+when it come ter dat kinder doin's he wuz a puffick prodigal. I 'member
+de words, suh, bekaze I made Hamp read de piece out loud mo' dan once.
+
+"Miss Sadie, she got mo' calmer atter while, an' 'twa'n't long 'fo'
+Marse Gabe an' Miss Fanny wuz bofe mighty tuck up wid 'er. Dey much'd
+'er up an' made a heap un 'er, an' she fa'rly hung on dem. I done tol'
+you she ain't purty, but dey wuz sump'n 'bout er better dan purtiness.
+It mought er been 'er eyes, en den ag'in mought er been de way er de
+gal; but whatsomever 'twuz, hit made you think 'bout 'er at odd times
+durin' de day, an' des 'fo' you go ter sleep at night.
+
+"Eve'ything went swimmin' along des ez natchul ez a duck floatin' on
+de mill-pon'. Dey wa'n't skacely a day but what I seed Miss Sadie. Ef I
+ain't go ter Marse Gabe's house she'd be sho' ter come ter mine. Dat uz
+atter Hamp wuz 'lected ter de legislatur, suh. He 'low dat a member er
+de ingener'l ensembly ain't got no bizness livin' in a kitchen, but I
+say dat he ain't a whit better den dan he wuz befo'. So be, I done been
+cross 'im so much dat I tell 'im ter git de house an' I'd live in it ef
+'twa'n't too fur fum Miss Vallie an' Marse Tumlin. Well, he had it built
+on de outskyirts, not a big jump fum Miss Vallie, an' betwix' de town
+an' Marse Gabe Towers's. Dat wuz atter you went 'way, suh. Nex' time
+you come down, you mus' come see me. Me an' Hamp'll treat you right, we
+sholy will.
+
+"Well, suh, in dem days dey wa'n't so many niggers willin' ter do an' be
+done by, an' on account er dat, ef Miss Vallie wa'n't hollin' fer 'Nervy
+Ann, Miss Fanny er Sadie wuz, an' when I wa'n't at one place, you might
+know I'd be at de yuther one. It went on dis away, an' went on twel one
+day got so much like an'er dat you can't tell Monday fum Friday. An' it
+went on an' went on twel bimeby I wuz bleeze ter say sump'n ter Hamp.
+You take notice, suh, an' when you see de sun shinin' nice an' warm
+an' de win' blowin' so saft an' cool dat you wanter go in a-washin' in
+it—when you see dis an' feel dat away, _Watch out!_ _Watch out_, I tell
+you! Dat des de time when de harrycane gwineter come up out'n de middle
+er de swamp an' t'ar things ter tatters. Same way when folks gitting on
+so nice dat dey don't know dey er gittin' on.
+
+"De fus' news I know'd Miss Sadie wuz bringin' little bundles ter my
+house 'twix' sundown an' dark. She'd 'low, 'Aunt Minervy Ann, I'll des
+put dis in de cornder here; I may want it some time.' Nex' day it'd be
+de same doin's over ag'in. 'Aunt Minervy Ann, please take keer er dis;
+I may want it some time.' Well, it went on dis away fum day ter day,
+but I ain't pay no 'tention. Ef any 'spicion cross my min' it wuz dat
+maybe Miss Sadie puttin' dem things dar fer ter 'sprise me Chris'mus by
+tellin' me dey wuz fer me. But one day she come ter my house, an' sot
+down an' put her han's over her face like she got de headache er sump'n.
+
+"Wellum"—Aunt Minervy Ann, with real tact, now began to address herself
+to the lady of the house—"Wellum, she sot dar so long dat bimeby I ax
+'er what de matter is. She ain't say nothin'; she ain't make no motion.
+I 'low ter myse'f dat she don't wanter be pestered, so I let 'er 'lone
+an' went on 'bout my bizness. But, bless you! de nex' time I look at
+'er she wuz settin' des dat away wid 'er han's over her face. She sot
+so still dat it sorter make me feel quare, an' I went, I did, an' cotch
+holt er her han's sorter playful-like. Wellum, de way dey felt made me
+flinch. All I could say wuz, 'Lord 'a' mercy!' She tuck her han's down,
+she did, an' look at me an' smile kinder faint-like. She 'low, 'Wuz my
+han's col', Aunt Minervy Ann?' I look at 'er an' grunt, 'Huh! dey won't
+be no colder when youer dead.' She ain't say nothin', an' terreckly I
+'low, 'What de name er goodness is de matter wid you, Miss Sadie?' She
+say, 'Nothin' much. I'm gwine ter stay here ter-night, an' ter-morrer
+mornin' I'm gwine 'way.' I ax 'er, 'How come dat? What is dey done to
+you?' She say, 'Nothin' 'tall.' I 'low, 'Does Marse Gabe an' Miss Fanny
+know you gwine?' She say, 'No; I can't tell um.'
+
+"Wellum, I flopt down on a cheer; yessum, I sho' did. My min' wuz gwine
+like a whirligig an' my head wuz swimmin'. I des sot dar an' look at
+'er. Bimeby she up an' say, pickin' all de time at her frock, 'I know'd
+sump'n wuz gwine ter happen. Dat de reason I been bringin' dem bundles
+here. In dem ar bundles you'll fin' all de things I fotch here. I ain't
+got nothin' dey give me 'cep'n, dish yer black dress I got on. I'd 'a'
+fotch my ol' trunk, but I dunner what dey done wid it. Hamp'll hatter
+buy me one an' pay fer it hisse'f, 'kaze I ain't got a cent er money.'
+Dem de ve'y words she say. I 'low, 'Sump'n must 'a' happen den.' She
+nodded, an' bimeby she say, 'Mr. Towers comin' home ter-night. Dey done
+got a telegraph fum 'im.'
+
+"I stood up in de flo', I did, an' ax 'er, 'Which Mr.Towers?' She say,
+'Mr. Jesse Towers.' I 'low, 'He done dead.' She say, 'No, he ain't; ef
+he wuz he done come ter life; dey done got a telegraph fum 'im, I tell
+you.' 'Is _dat_ de reason you gwine 'way?' I des holla'd it at 'er. She
+draw'd a long breff an' say, 'Yes, dat's de reason.'
+
+"I tell you right now, ma'm, I didn't know ef I wuz stannin' on my head
+er floatin' in de a'r. I wuz plum outdone. But dar she sot des es cool
+ez a curcumber wid de dew on it. I went out de do', I did, an' walk
+'roun' de house once ter de right an' twice ter de lef' bekaze de ol'
+folks use ter tell me dat ef you wuz bewitched, dat 'ud take de spell
+away. I ain't tellin' you no lie, ma'm—fer de longes' kinder minnit I
+didn't no mo' b'lieve dat Miss Sadie wuz settin' dar in my house tellin'
+me dat kinder rigamarole, dan I b'lieve I'm flyin' right now. Dat bein'
+de case, I bleeze ter fall back on bewitchments, an' so I walk 'roun'
+de house. But when I went back in, dar she wuz, settin' in a cheer an'
+lookin' up at de rafters.
+
+"Wellum, I went in an' drapt down in a cheer an' lookt at 'er. Bimeby,
+I say, 'Miss Sadie, does you mean ter set dar an' tell me youer gwine
+'way 'kaze yo' husban' comin' home?' She flung her arms behime 'er
+head, she did, an' say, 'I ain't none er his wife; I des been playin'
+off!' De way she look an' de way she say it wuz 'nuff fer me. I wuz
+pairlized; yessum, I wuz dumfounder'd. Ef anybody had des but totch me
+wid de tip er der finger, I'd 'a' fell off'n dat cheer an' never stirred
+atter I hit de flo'. Ever'thing 'bout de house lookt quare. Miss Vallie
+had a lookin'-glass one time wid de pictur' uv a church at de bottom.
+When de glass got broke, she gimme de pictur', an' I sot it up on de
+mantel-shelf. I never know'd 'fo' dat night dat de steeple er der church
+wuz crooked. But dar 'twuz. Mo' dan dat I cotch myse'f feelin' er my
+fingers fer ter see ef 'twuz me an' ef I wuz dar.
+
+"Talk 'bout _dreams_! Dey wa'n't no dream could beat dat, I don't keer
+how twisted it mought be. An' den, ma'm, she sot back dar an' tol' me
+de whole tale 'bout how she come ter be dar. I'll never tell it like
+she did; dey ain't nobody in de wide worl' kin do dat. But it seem like
+she an' Marse Jesse wuz stayin' in de same neighborhoods, er stayin'
+at de same place, he a-fiddlin' an' she a-knockin' on de peanner er de
+harp, I fergit which. Anyhow, dey seed a heap er one an'er. Bofe un um
+had come dar fum way off yan', an' ain't got nobody but deyse'f fer ter
+'pen' on, an' dat kinder flung um tergedder. I speck dey must er swapt
+talk 'bout love an' marryin'—you know yo'se'f, ma'm, dat dat's de way
+young folks is. Howsomever dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter tease 'er,
+sot down one day an' writ a long letter ter his wife. Tooby sho' he
+ain't got no wife, but he des make out he got one, an' dat letter he
+lef' layin' 'roun' whar Miss Sadie kin see it. 'Twa'n't in no envelyup,
+ner nothin', an' you know mighty well, ma'm, dat when a 'oman, young er
+ol', see dat kinder letter layin' 'roun' she'd die ef she don't read it.
+Fum de way Miss Sadie talk, dat letter must 'a' stirred up a coolness
+'twix' um, 'kaze de mornin' when he wuz gwine on dat 'scursion, Marse
+Jesse pass by de place whar she wuz settin' at an' flung de letter in
+her lap an' say, 'What's in dar wuz fer you.'
+
+"Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an' de fus' news Miss Sadie know'd de
+papers wuz full er de names er dem what got drownded in de boat, an'
+Marse Jesse head de roll, 'kaze he wuz de mos' pop'lous music-maker in
+de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de gal an' de letter. I wish I could
+tell dis part like she tol' me settin' dar in my house. You'll never git
+it straight in yo' head less'n you'd 'a' been dar an' hear de way she
+tol' it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty well dat a white 'oman ain't got
+no bizness parmin' 'erse'f off ez a man's wife. But de way she tol' it
+tuck all de rough aidges off'n it. She wuz dar in dat big town, wuss'n
+a wilderness, ez you may say, by 'erse'f, nobody 'pen' in on 'er an'
+nobody ter 'pen' on, tired down an' plum wo' out, an' wid all dem kinder
+longin's what you know yo'se'f, ma'm, all wimmen bleeze ter have, ef
+dey er white er ef dey er black.
+
+"Yit she ain't never tol' nobody dat she wuz Marse Jesse's wife. She
+des han' de letter what she'd kep' ter Miss Fanny, an' fell down on de
+flo' in a dead faint, an' she say dat ef it hadn't but 'a' been fer me,
+she'd a got out er de bed dat fust night an' went 'way fum dar; an' I
+know dat's so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin' fer ter git up fum dar. But
+at de time I put all dat down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an' made
+'er stay in bed.
+
+"Wellum, ef I know'd all de books in de worl' by heart, I couldn't tell
+you how I felt atter she done tol' me dat tale. She sot back dar des ez
+calm ez a baby. Bimeby she say, 'I'm glad I tol' you; I feel better dan
+I felt in a mighty long time.' It look like, ma'm, dat a load'd been
+lift fum 'er min'. Now I know'd pine blank dat sump'n got ter be done,
+'kaze de train'd be in at midnight, an' den when Marse Jesse come dey'd
+be a tarrfyin' time at Gabe Towers's. Atter while I up an' ax 'er, 'Miss
+Sadie, did you reely love Marse Jesse?' She say, 'Yes, I did'—des so. I
+ax 'er, 'Does you love 'im now?' She say, 'Yes, I does—an' I love dem ar
+people up dar at de house; dat de reason I'm gwine 'way.' She talk right
+out; she done come to de p'int whar she ain't got nothin' ter hide.
+
+"I say, 'Well, Miss Sadie, dem folks up at de house, dey loves you.'
+She sorter flincht at dis. I 'low, 'Dey been mighty good ter you. What
+you done, you done done, an' dat can't be holp, but what you ain't gone
+an' done, dat kin be holp; an' what you oughter do, dat oughtn't ter be
+holp.' I see 'er clinch 'er han's an' den I riz fum de cheer." Suiting
+the action to the word, Aunt Minervy Ann rose from the step where she
+had been sitting, and moved toward the lady of the house.
+
+"I riz, I did, an' tuck my stan' befo' 'er. I 'low, 'You say you love
+Marse Jesse, an' you say you love his folks. Well, den ef you got any
+blood in you, ef you got any heart in yo' body, ef you got any feelin'
+fer anybody in de roun' worl' 'cep'n' yo' naked se'f, you'll go up dar
+ter dat house an' tell Gabe Towers dat you want ter see 'im, an' you'll
+tell Fanny Towers dat you want ter see her, an' you'll stan' up befo' um
+an' tell um de tale you tol' ter me, word fer word. Ef you'll do dat,
+an' you hatter come back here, _come! come!_ Bless God! _come!_ an' me
+an' Hamp'll rake an' scrape up 'nuff money fer ter kyar you whar you
+gwine. An' don't you be a-skeer'd er Gabe Towers. Me an' Marse Tumlin
+ain't a-skeer'd un 'im. I'm gwine wid you, an' ef he say one word out
+de way, you des come ter de do' an' call me, an' ef I don't preach his
+funer'l, it'll be bekaze de Lord'll strike me dumb!' _An' she went!_"
+
+Aunt Minervy paused. Once again she had wrought the miracle of summoning
+to life one of the crises through which she had passed with others.
+It was not the words she used. There was nothing in them to stir the
+heart or quicken the pulse. Her power lay in the tones of her voice,
+whereby she was able to recall the passion of a moment that had long
+spent itself; in the fluent and responsive attitudes; in gesticulation
+that told far more than her words did. The light from the vestibule lamp
+shone full upon her and upon the lady whom she unconsciously selected
+to play the part of the young woman whose story she was telling. The
+illusion was perfect. We were in Aunt Minervy Ann's house, Miss Sadie
+was sitting helpless and hopeless before her—the whole scene was vivid
+and complete. She paused; her arm, which had been outstretched and rigid
+for an instant, slowly fell to her side, and—the illusion was gone;
+but while it lasted, it was as real as any sudden and extraordinary
+experience can be.
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann resumed her seat, with a chuckle, apparently ashamed
+that she had been betrayed into such a display of energy and emotion,
+saying, "Yessum, she sho' went."
+
+"I don't wonder at it," remarked the lady of the house, with a
+long-drawn sigh of relief.
+
+Aunt Minervy Ann laughed again, rather sheepishly, and then, after
+rubbing her hands together, took up the thread of the narrative, this
+time directing her words to me: "All de way ter de house, suh, she ain't
+say two words. She had holt er my han', but she ain't walk like she uz
+weak. She went along ez peart ez I did. When we got dar, some er de
+niggers wuz out in de flower-gyarden an' out in de big grove callin'
+'er; an' dey call so loud dat I hatter put um down. 'Hush up!' I say,
+'an' go on 'bout yo' bizness! Can't yo' Miss Sadie take a walk widout a
+whole passel er you niggers a-hollerin' yo' heads off?' One un um make
+answer, 'Miss Fanny huntin' fer 'er.' She sorter grip my han' at dat,
+but I say, 'She de one you wanter see—her an' Gabe Towers.'
+
+"We went up on de po'ch, an' dar wuz Miss Fanny an' likewise Marse Gabe.
+I know'd what dey wanted; dey wanted ter talk wid 'er 'bout Marse Jesse.
+She clum de steps fus' an' I clum atter her. She cotch er 'breff hard
+when she fus' hit de steps, an' den it come over me like a flash how
+deep an' big her trouble wuz, an' I tell you right now, ef dat had 'a'
+been Miss Vallie gwine up dar, I b'lieve I'd a-flew at ol' Gabe Towers
+an' to' 'im lim' fum lim' 'fo' anybody could 'a' pull me off. Hit's
+de trufe! You may laugh, but I sho' would 'a' done it. I had it in me.
+Miss Fanny seed sump'n wuz wrong, de minnit de light fell on de gal's
+face. She say, 'Why, Sadie, darlin', what de matter wid you?'—des so—an'
+made ez ef ter put 'er arms 'roun' 'er; but Miss Sadie swunk back.
+Miss Fanny sorter swell up. She say, 'Oh, ef I've hurt yo' feelin's
+ter-day—_ter-day_ uv all de days—please, please fergi' me!'
+
+"Well, suh, I dunner whar all dis gwine ter lead ter, an' I put in,
+'She des wanter have a talk wid you an' Marse Gabe, Miss Fanny; an' ef
+ter-day is one er de days her feelin's oughtn'ter be hurted, take keer
+dat you don't do it. Kyar 'er in de parler dar, Miss Fanny.' I speck
+you'll think I wuz takin' a mighty heap on myse'f, fer a nigger 'oman,"
+remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, smoothing the wrinkles out of her lap, "but
+I wuz des ez much at home in dat house ez I wuz in my own, an' des ez
+free wid um ez I wuz wid my own folks. Miss Fanny look skeer'd, an'
+Marse Gabe foller'd atter, rubbin' a little mole he had on de top er
+his head. When he wus worried er aggervated, he allers rub dat mole.
+
+"Well, suh, dey went in, dey did, an' I shot de do' an' tuck up my stan'
+close by, ready fer to go in when Miss Sadie call me. I had myse'f keyed
+up ter de p'int whar I'd 'a' tol' Marse Gabe sump'n 'bout his own fambly
+connection; you know dey ain't nobody but what got i'on rust on some er
+der cloze. But dey stayed in dar an' stayed, twel I 'gun ter git oneasy.
+All kinder quare idees run th'oo my head. Atter while some un pull de
+do' open, an' hol' it dat away, an' I hear Marse Gabe say, wid a trimble
+an' ketch in his th'oat, 'Don't talk so, chil'. Ef you done wrong, you
+ain't hurt nobody but yo'se'f, an' it oughtn'ter hurt you. You been
+a mighty big blessin' ter me, an' ter Fanny here, an' I wouldn't 'a'
+missed knowin' you, not fer nothin'. Wid dat, he come out cle'rin' up
+his th'oat an' blowin' his nose twel it soun' like a dinner-horn. His
+eye fell on me, an' he 'low, 'Look like you er allers on han' when dey's
+trouble.' I made answer, 'Well, Marse Gabe, dey might be wusser ones
+'roun' dan me.' He look at me right hard an' say, 'Dey ain't no better,
+Minervy Ann.' 'Well, suh, little mo' an' I'd 'a' broke down, it come
+so sudden. I had ter gulp hard an' quick, I tell you. He say, 'Minervy
+Ann, go back dar an' tell de house-gal ter wake up de carriage-driver
+ef he's 'sleep, an' tell 'im to go meet Jesse at de train. An' he mus'
+tell Jesse dat we'd 'a' all come, but his ma ain't feelin' so well.'
+I say, 'I'll go wake 'im up myse'f, suh.' I look in de parler an' say,
+'Miss Sadie, does you need me right now?' She 'low, 'No, not right now;
+I'll stay twel—twel Mr. Towers come.' Miss Fanny wuz settin' dar holdin'
+Miss Sadie's han'.
+
+"I'll never tell you how dey patcht it up in dar, but I made a long
+guess. Fus' an' fo'mus', dey wuz right down fon' er Miss Sadie, an' den
+ef she run off time Marse Jesse put his foot in de town dey'd be a big
+scandal; an' so dey fix it up dat ef she wuz bleeze ter go, 'twuz better
+to go a mont' er two atter Marse Jesse come back. Folks may like you
+mighty well, but dey allers got one eye on der own consarns. Dat de way
+I put it down.
+
+"Well, suh, de wuss job wuz lef' fer de las', 'kaze dar wuz Marse Jesse.
+Sump'n tol' me dat he oughter know what been gwine on 'fo' he got in de
+house, 'kaze den he won't be aggervated inter sayin' an doin' sump'n he
+oughtn'ter. So when de carriage wuz ready, I got in an' went down ter
+de depot; an' when Marse Jesse got off de train, I wuz de fus' one he
+laid eyes on. I'd 'a' never know'd 'im in de worl', but he know'd me.
+He holler out, 'Ef dar ain't Aunt Minervy Ann! Bless yo' ol' soul! how
+you come on anyhow?' He come mighty nigh huggin' me, he wuz so glad ter
+see me. He wuz big ez a skinned hoss an' strong ez a mule. He say, 'Ef I
+had you in my min' once, Aunt Minervy Ann, I had you in dar ten thousan'
+times.'
+
+"Whiles de carriage rollin' 'long an' grindin' de san' I try ter gi' 'im
+a kinder inkling er what been gwine on, but 'twuz all a joke wid 'im. I
+wuz fear'd I mought go at 'im de wrong way, but I can't do no better.
+I say, 'Marse Jesse, yo' wife been waitin' here fer you a long time.'
+He laugh an' 'low, 'Oh, yes! did she bring de childun? I say, 'Shucks,
+Marse Jesse! Dey's a lady in deep trouble at Marse Gabe's house, an' I
+don't want you ter go dar jokin'. She's a monst'us fine lady, too.' Dis
+kinder steady 'im, an' he say, 'All right, Aunt Minervy Ann; I'll behave
+myse'f des like a Sunday-school scholar. I won't say bad words an' I
+won't talk loud.' He had his fiddle-case in his lap, an' he drummed on
+it like he keepin' time ter some chune in his min'.
+
+"Well, suh, we got dar in de due time, an' 'twuz a great meetin' 'twixt
+Marse Jesse an' his folks. Dey des swarmed on 'im, ez you may say, an'
+while dis gwine on, I went in de parler whar Miss Sadie wuz. She wuz
+pale, tooby sho', but she had done firm'd 'erse'f. She wuz standin' by
+de fier-place, lookin' down, but she lookt up when she hear de do' open,
+an' den she say, 'I'm mighty glad it's you, Aunt Minervy Ann; I want you
+ter stay in here.' I 'low, 'I'll stay, honey, ef you say stay.' Den she
+tuck 'er stand by me an' cotch holt er my arm wid bofe 'er han's an'
+kinder leant again me.
+
+"Bimeby, here come Marse Jesse. Trouble wuz in his eye when he open de
+do', but when he saw de gal, his face lit up des like when you strike
+a match in a closet. He say, 'Why, Miss Sadie! You dunner how glad I
+is ter see you. I been huntin' all over de country fer you.' He make
+ez ef ter shake han's, but she draw'd back. Dis cut 'im. He say, 'What
+de matter? Who you in mournin' fer?' She 'low, 'Fer myse'f.' Wid dat
+she wuz gwine on ter tell 'im 'bout what she done, but he wouldn't have
+it dat away. He say, 'When I come back ter life, atter I wuz drownded,
+I 'gun ter hunt fer you des ez soon's I got out'n de hospittle. I wuz
+huntin' fer you ter tell you dat I love you. I'd 'a' tol' you dat den,
+an' I tell you dat now.' She grip my arm mighty hard at dat. Marse Jesse
+went on mightly. He tell 'er dat she ain't done nobody no harm, dat she
+wuz welcome ter his name ef he'd 'a' been dead, an' mo' welcome now dat
+he wuz livin'. She try ter put in a word here an' dar, but he won't have
+it. Stan'in' up dar he wuz ol' Gabe Towers over ag'in; 'twuz de fus'
+time I know'd he faver'd 'im.
+
+"He tol' 'er 'bout how he wrenched a do' off'n one er de rooms in de
+boat, an' how he floated on dat twel he got so col' an' num' dat he
+can't hol' on no longer, an' how he turn loose an' don't know nothin'
+twel he wake up in some yuther town; an' how, atter he git well, he
+had de plooisy an' lay dar a mont' er two, an' den he 'gun ter hunt fer
+her. He went 'way up dar ter Hampsher whar she come fum, but she ain't
+dar, an' den he come home; an' won't she be good 'nuff ter set down an'
+listen at 'im?
+
+"Well, suh, dey wuz mo' in Marse Jesse dan I had any idee. He wuz a rank
+talker, sho'. I see 'er face warmin' up, an' I say, 'Miss Sadie, I speck
+I better be gwine.' Marse Jesse say, 'You ain't in my way, Aunt Minervy
+Ann; I done foun' my sweetheart, an' I ain't gwine ter lose 'er no mo',
+you kin des bet on dat.' She ain't say nothin', an' I know'd purty well
+dat eve'ything wuz all skew vee."
+
+"I hope they married," remarked the lady of the house, after waiting
+a moment for Aunt Minervy Ann to resume. There was just a shade of
+suspicion in her tone.
+
+"Oh, dey married, all right 'nuff," said Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing.
+
+"Didn't it create a good deal of talk?" the lady asked, suspicion still
+in her voice.
+
+"Talk? No, ma'm! De man what dey git de license fum wuz Miss Fanny's
+br'er, Gus Featherstone, an' de man what married um wuz Marse Gabe's
+br'er, John Towers. Dey wa'n't nobody ter do no talkin'. De nex' mornin'
+me an' Miss Sadie an' Marse Jesse got in de carriage an' drove out ter
+John Towers's place whar he runnin' a church, an' 'twuz all done an'
+over wid mos' quick ez a nigger kin swaller a dram."
+
+"What do you think of it?" I asked the lady of the house.
+
+"Why, it is almost like a story in a book."
+
+"Does dey put dat kinder doin's in books?" asked Aunt Minervy Ann, with
+some solicitude.
+
+"Certainly," replied the lady.
+
+"Wid all de turmile, an' trouble, an' tribulation—an' all de worry an'
+aggervation? Well, Hamp wanted me ter l'arn how ter read, but I thank
+my stars dat I can't read no books. Dey's 'nuff er all dat right whar
+we live at widout huntin' it up in books."
+
+After this just observation, it was time to put out the lights.
+
+
+
+
+AGUINALDO'S CAPITAL
+
+WHY MALOLOS WAS CHOSEN
+
+By Lieutenant-Colonel J. D. Miley
+
+
+Early in May, 1898, Admiral Dewey brought from Hong Kong on the United
+States steamship McCulloch, Aguinaldo with seventeen of his colleagues
+and landed them at Cavité. Aguinaldo, in addition to prosecuting a
+vigorous campaign against the Spaniards, at once began organizing a
+government, dictatorial in form and in fact, of which Cavité remained
+the Capital until the arrival of General Anderson early in July. When
+the latter had established his head-quarters at Cavité and commenced
+active preparations for the coming attack on Manila, Aguinaldo changed
+his Capital to Bacoor, a little village a few miles from Cavité, and
+nearer to Manila. The Capital remained at Bacoor until it was seen
+that General Merritt would not permit armed Insurgents to enter Manila,
+when Malolos was proclaimed the Capital and Aguinaldo himself took up
+his residence there early in September, and the newly elected Filipino
+Congress met at the same place on the 20th of the same month.
+
+From that time until its capture on March 31st Malolos was of the
+first importance to the Insurgents, but its fall was disappointing
+to many, for the cry of "On to Malolos" had been very popular, and it
+had been expected that the consequences of its occupation by American
+troops would be immediate and far-reaching. It simply furnished one
+more instance in history where the fall of an enemy's Capital failed to
+bring to a successful ending a campaign or a war. The only two instances
+that may be cited against this statement really tend to prove the
+proposition, for France was defeated before the entry of Paris, and the
+Confederacy was in its last extremity when Richmond fell. The immediate
+results would have been the same in either case if neither the one nor
+the other had been occupied.
+
+Malolos is twenty-two miles from Manila, in the Province of Bulacan,
+on the railway connecting Manila with Dagupan, the only one in the
+Philippine Islands. This made it very accessible, but the real reason
+for the selection of Malolos as the Insurgent Capital was the fact that
+the present revolution had its first beginnings there; that the place
+persistently remained a hot-bed of revolution, and as a reward for the
+patriotism and loyalty of this picturesque little town, the legendary
+seat of the Bulacan kings, Aguinaldo fixed upon it as the site of his
+permanent Capital.
+
+Aguinaldo now lays claim to descent from the Bulacan kings, but the
+best informed Filipinos say that this occurred to him after coming to
+Malolos, and was prompted by an effort to inspire among his followers
+a greater awe and respect. His followers ascribe to him supernatural
+powers that enable him to perform miracles and make him proof against
+the bullets of his enemies. Whether he encourages them in this belief
+cannot be verified. This peculiar power among the Filipinos is known
+as "_anting anting_" and is popularly supposed to be possessed by
+many. A wily Filipino goes through a battle or escapes some danger and
+then exhibits a curiously carved knife-handle or match-box or piece of
+jewelry or coin, and claims that his immunity is due to this trinket.
+He is at once regarded as an "_anting anting_" man, and his power and
+fame grow and spread at each subsequent lucky escape.
+
+  [Illustration: Dwelling-house in Malolos, Philippine Islands,
+   Thatched with Nipa.
+
+   The inmates have just returned, satisfied that they are safe under
+   American occupation.]
+
+Malolos lies in the heart of a valley of marvellous fertility, extending
+north from Manila, and is surrounded by fields, large and small, fringed
+with rows of bamboo and cultivated principally to rice. As one rides
+through this valley, with the beautiful, glossy-leaved mango trees
+dotting it in all directions, he cannot fail to be reminded, if he has
+seen them both, of the beautiful Santa Clara Valley of California, so
+much are they alike.
+
+The first mutterings of the revolution were heard in Malolos in 1888.
+In the same year Masonry was first introduced into the Philippine
+Islands by Don Centeno, the Civil Governor of Manila, who encouraged
+the diffusion of its teachings among the natives, and assisted in the
+formation of chapters in the city. He was influenced to do this through
+hostility to the Archbishop and to the Church.
+
+Catholicism is radically opposed to secret societies of any kind, and
+the fight between the Archbishop, as representative of the Church, and
+the Masons grew so bitter that finally a determined attack was made
+upon the Archbishop's life. The leaders were promptly arrested and
+thrown into prison, and from there they sent a memorial to the Queen,
+remarkable for its eloquence, and for the fact that it revealed a
+widespread and deeply rooted devotion to the principles of freedom.
+
+So strict was the surveillance over the meetings of the Masons in
+Manila, now that it was suspected they were merely a cloak for the
+revolutionary discussions, that Malolos soon became the Mecca for all
+revolutionists. It had always been a popular place for hunters and
+fishermen, and now many of the hunting lodges became Masonic rendezvous.
+The well-to-do and educated classes quickly and eagerly accepted the
+revolutionary teachings, and Malolos, from 1888, was regarded as a
+strong revolutionary centre. It must be borne in mind that the Filipino
+never became a pure Mason, accepting and practising the teachings of
+that ancient Society. Only some of the outward forms of the Society
+were adopted and used, under cover of which the spread of revolutionary
+ideas was made easy. Before 1888 there were scarcely two dozen Filipinos
+who were Masons, and these were residents of Paris or other European
+Capitals, but from that year the spread of the Society was rapid.
+In 1892 there were many lodges all over the Archipelago, and women
+were admitted as members. Its mysteries and symbols appealed to the
+barbaric, half-civilized natives, and these they retained, while their
+meetings were centres of discussions of the abstract and theoretical
+principles of freedom and independence with which the Malay brain is
+always pregnant. Discussions soon led to plotting against the Spanish
+authorities and the preliminary steps toward revolution, and what was
+Masonry only in name soon gave way to the Filipino League, of which
+Rizal was the leader. This league was an association with a basic form
+of Masonry, but whose true designs were political and anti-Spanish.
+
+  [Illustration: Exterior and Interior of the Insurgent Capitol in
+   Malolos while Occupied as Head-quarters of the Utah Light Battery.
+
+   In this old church the Filipino Revolutionary Congress formulated
+   the Constitution which was proclaimed on January 21, 1899.]
+
+The methods of the league were soon found to be not radical enough
+by a majority of the members, and the league, in 1894, was dissolved
+and the formidable and bloody Katipunan formed under the leadership
+of Marcelo Hilarío del Pilar. Its object was to secure the freedom
+of the Philippines by putting to the sword all the Spaniards in the
+Archipelago. Manila, of course, was the seat of the supreme council of
+the Katipunan, and its branches or chapters were established in all the
+provinces and principal towns of the Islands.
+
+Every member on being initiated into the Society received a name by
+which he was always thereafter known to the other members, and all were
+masked. In this way no one knew the identity of any other member, and
+even a man's next door neighbor or his brother or partner in business
+might be seated next to him nightly at the Katipunan Lodge and he would
+never be the wiser. At initiation the new member took a bloody oath and
+subscribed to it by dipping his pen in the blood drawn from an incision
+in his left arm. This idea is said to have been derived from a painting
+called "_Pacto de Sangre_," executed in Madrid by a famous Filipino
+painter, Juan Luna. After the revolution broke out in 1896, the members
+of the Katipunan could always be identified among the dead and prisoners
+by the scars.
+
+A symbolic chart was in the possession of each member, and by that he
+could find the Katipunan Lodge in the provinces or towns wherever he
+might be and identify himself by means of it. As an example of the names
+borne by the members, General Ricarte, now in the Insurgents' army,
+was known under the name of "Vivora," meaning viper, poisonous snake.
+The present General Pilar, of whom so much is heard in the uprising
+against the Americans, is not the Pilar of Katipunan fame, though it is
+generally taken for granted that he is. The present Pilar assumed that
+name some years ago, but his characteristics are such as to easily lead
+one to believe that he and the Pilar who originated the Katipunan are
+one and the same.
+
+  [Illustration: The Train which Makes Two Trips Daily from Manila to
+   Malolos and Return.
+
+   It carries forage, rations, fresh bread and meat, and distilled water
+   for the American troops, and brings back the sick and wounded to the
+   hospitals.]
+
+From 1888 to 1892 Malolos seems to have been the most troublesome
+place in the Islands to the Colonial Government. There are slightly
+over five thousand towns distributed over the Archipelago, and out of
+these Malolos was the only one which rejected the parish priests that
+the Government selected. As Malolos was known to be much disaffected,
+great care was taken to select the most exemplary of priests to be sent
+there, but without avail. The first two sent were deported and the third
+assassinated.
+
+_El Katipunan del Norte_ (the northern branch of the Katipunan) was
+most active in the Province of Bulacan and especially around Malolos.
+Contributions poured into the revolutionary fund, and when open
+rebellion finally broke out in August, 1896, the Spaniards fought
+the rebels over very much the same ground as the Americans fought the
+Insurgents in the advance from Caloocan to Malolos and beyond. Peace
+was agreed upon in December, 1897, at Biac-na-bato, in the Province
+of Bulacan, and until May, 1898, there was a period of quiet in the
+Islands.
+
+While the Insurgent Capital still remained at Cavité, Aguinaldo, on
+June 18th and 23d, respectively, issued the proclamations which gave
+his government a representative form. In the proclamation of the 18th
+he invites attention to the Providential circumstances that had placed
+him in the position in which he then found himself, and signifies
+his intention not to shrink from his responsibilities, but to make
+the redemption of his people, "from slavery and tyranny, regaining
+our liberty and entrance into the concert of civilized nations," the
+aspiration of his whole life, and the "final object of all my efforts
+and strength." In the same proclamation the methods were given by
+which the chiefs of towns and provinces and the representatives to the
+Revolutionary Congress were to be elected.
+
+In the proclamation of the 23d it was directed that the Dictatorial
+Government should thereafter be styled the Revolutionary Government
+and that the Dictator should thenceforth be known as the President of
+the Revolutionary Government. The executive, legislative, and judicial
+powers were defined and the manner of administering them was prescribed,
+and on the 27th of June the rules concerning the details of installing
+the government were published.
+
+  [Illustration: Street Scene in Malolos, Philippine Islands.]
+
+From Bacoor, on the 6th of August, was sent the letter to foreign
+governments, in which the "President of the Revolutionary Government of
+the Philippines, and in the name and representation of the Philippine
+people, asks the support of all the powers of the civilized world, and
+earnestly entreats them to proceed to the formal recognition of the
+belligerency of the revolution and the independence of the Philippines,
+since they are the means designated by Providence to maintain the
+equilibrium between peoples, sustaining the weak and restraining the
+strong, to the end that by these means shall shine forth and be realized
+the most complete justice in the indefinite progress of humanity."
+
+The Augustinians had been assigned to the parish of Malolos, and in fact
+this body of friars held all the livings in the Province of Bulacan. In
+the convent forming part of a new church erected by them at Malolos,
+Aguinaldo established his head-quarters, surrounded by considerable
+barbaric splendor and ceremonial. This was known as the "White House"
+of the Insurgent Government. The State Department was also in the same
+building, and in a less pretentious structure a hundred yards away the
+Treasury Department was installed.
+
+When the American troops occupied Malolos, General MacArthur made this
+building his head-quarters, and in it was found a small field-safe
+containing some drafts and a little money. The postage and telegraph
+stamps issued by the Insurgent Government were made here, but all had
+been removed. The convent with the church adjoining, and the Treasury
+Department, were on two sides of the plaza of Malolos, and on the third
+side the War Department was established in some buildings that the Third
+United States Artillery afterward occupied.
+
+The old Augustinian church some distance from the plaza had been taken
+as the Insurgent Capitol. Here the Revolutionary Congress assembled on
+September 20, 1898, and sat in deliberation until, in January, 1899,
+the Political Constitution of the Filipino State was given to the world.
+The constitution was proclaimed by Aguinaldo on the 21st of the month.
+
+Malolos has a population variously estimated at from five to seven
+thousand, and as the Americans entered it, every man, woman, and child
+left with the retreating army.
+
+With the exception of American troops moving about, the place was in a
+state of desolation. The refugees tried to take with them most of their
+valuable possessions, but the houses remained just as they left them. It
+was weeks before any of them dared to return, and then they came one or
+two at a time, carrying over their shoulders a bamboo rod to which was
+attached a white cloth as a flag of truce. They timidly approached their
+houses, and, finding them intact, and that there was really nothing to
+fear, hastened back into the country to bring their families and tell
+their neighbors.
+
+
+
+
+IN A POPPY GARDEN
+
+By Sara King Wiley
+
+
+     Beyond the gold-green lane the poppy garden
+     Flutters and flaunts, like sunset seas aglow.
+     The frosty, fuzzy stalks and blue leaf banners
+           Ranging in row on row.
+
+     Here are some multi-petaled, ruby crimson,
+     Into a crumpled purple withering,
+     Like tattered velvet old and dim and dusty
+           Of a neglected king.
+
+     Whiter are these than are the moon-white lilies;
+     Censers that dainty fragrances exhale;
+     Each, when the early sun fills with his ardor,
+           Beams like a Holy Grail.
+
+     Pure, pure and shining gold these silk-smooth goblets,
+     Brimming with drowsy, heady scents to steep
+     The bold inbreathing spirit in gold visions,
+           Bright mysteries of sleep.
+
+     And here, O, here, are they the best belovèd,
+     Scarlet and splendid as the soul's desire,
+     With smouldered hearts hot from the glorious, daring
+           Welcome of the sun's fire.
+
+     "O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,
+     Under the soft, sweet sky of summer blue,
+     O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,
+           When will your dreams come true?"
+
+     "For every dream in this my poppy garden
+     A springing hope within my heart began;
+     Hopes are quick seeds of the world's wide garden,
+           Lord of whose life is man."
+
+
+
+
+A COPLEY BOY
+
+By Charles Warren
+
+
+Bellingham was intoxicated; there's no doubt about that at all," said
+Dawson of the _Standard_. "All the men on the press noticed it, and the
+chairman of his own party city committee admitted it to us."
+
+"Well, that makes no difference except that it's all the better for
+us," said Blakely. "It was a rascally, indecent attack, and I guess the
+Governor won't hesitate any longer about using that matter you and I
+worked up for him."
+
+Jim Blakely was the editor of a small newspaper with a very limited
+circulation but having an immense political influence. More keen than
+the shrewdest of the political managers, more powerful than the chairman
+of the State committee, more resourceful than all the party candidates,
+Jim Blakely sat in his little office and suggested the most successful
+political movements throughout the State. No candidate for Governor even
+thought of conducting a campaign without the aid and supervision of Jim
+Blakely.
+
+But Governor Clinton in this campaign had been somewhat restive under
+his management, and had declined to follow absolutely the lines laid out
+for him by Blakely and his other party associates. Clinton's opponent,
+Alfred P. Bellingham, the rival candidate for Governor, was a man of
+fifty years or thereabout—a political nonentity, having no opinion
+on any question which he could not readily change the next day with
+the greatest facility. Bellingham had evaded every honest political
+issue which Clinton had tried to force him to meet, and had conducted
+a campaign of the lowest and meanest personalities. But, in opposition
+to the advice of his party managers, Governor Clinton had steadfastly
+declined to meet Bellingham with his own weapons; and to indulge in
+attacks upon his private career.
+
+Then one day the reporter Dawson had brought to Blakely's attention
+certain important discoveries which he had made in raking over
+Bellingham's past life. The first was the record of an indictment found
+twenty-three years ago against Bellingham for altering ballots cast at
+a representative election, with intent to defraud, but which had been
+nol prossed by the District Attorney owing to political pressure. The
+other was the record of an arrest of Bellingham some ten years ago for
+drunkenness and disorderly conduct, and his conviction and fine.
+
+Clinton's party managers had received the news with great enthusiasm.
+They had recognized the splendid ammunition which these records would
+furnish; and they earnestly urged the Governor to make use of them upon
+the stump.
+
+"No," he had said, "I won't descend to that depth. If I can't be elected
+without the aid of those things, then let the people defeat me." And he
+had persisted in this refusal, despite the entreaties of his political
+friends and the disgust of his managers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a quarter before nine; and at nine o'clock it was the custom for
+Governor Clinton to meet his party managers every morning, to discuss
+the speeches of his opponent made the night before and to plan out the
+trend for the evening's speeches.
+
+"This vile abuse of last night of Bellingham's I guess will settle
+it," said Blakely again; and he went to his safe and brought out the
+certified copies of the legal proceedings. As he did so Governor Clinton
+came into the office. He looked flushed and angry.
+
+"Have you read that scoundrel's attack on me, Jim?" he asked, hurriedly.
+
+"Yes," said Blakely in a casual manner, as if it was of no importance.
+He knew enough now not to try to force the Governor's hand.
+
+"Well?" said the Governor.
+
+"Well," answered Blakely, "it's only what you've got to expect all the
+rest of the campaign." Clinton hesitated.
+
+"No," he said; "Jim, I've got enough. He's pushed me too far. I can't
+keep silent any longer. Have you got those documents you were telling
+me about?" Blakely pointed silently to the papers on his desk and lit
+his pipe. Clinton examined them with curiosity.
+
+"How do you account for last night's speech?" he asked.
+
+"Drunk again," replied Blakely. "Tell him, Bill." Dawson repeated to
+the Governor what he had just told Blakely.
+
+"I'm going up to Stanfield at half-past nine," the Governor said, still
+red with wrath, "to my old school, Copley School. They've asked me to
+make the speech on the awarding of the prize cups. It's Founder's Day.
+I'm billed for a rally to-night, I believe, at Dunster. Well, give me
+those papers and I'll make a speech there at Dunster to-night that will
+make that fool Bellingham wish he'd never been born."
+
+Blakely, metaphorically speaking, inwardly hugged himself; but he did
+not allow Clinton to see his joy at the Governor's conversion. Placing
+the papers carefully in his pocket, Clinton, after a few minutes'
+further talk, left the room, rode down to the station, and boarded the
+Southwestern Limited. Blakely waited until the door closed behind him
+and then slapped Dawson on the back. "I thought we'd land him finally.
+The Governor's a mighty good fellow, but he's got some high-toned
+views about politics that have to be gradually knocked out of him. His
+political ideas are very crude. He thinks you catch an election just
+as you catch cold. He expects a grateful people to present him with the
+election on a silver salver."
+
+"Whereas," replied Dawson, "the usual way is for the candidate to
+present the silver salver, or, rather, the silver salve to the people."
+
+On the way to Stanfield in the train the Governor dictated his speech to
+his private secretary. He realized that he was reversing entirely his
+former course of action by entering now into a personal conflict. But
+the attack made upon him by Bellingham had been so gross, so violent,
+and so savagely uncalled for in every way, that Clinton felt that the
+people of the State should now be told the plain facts regarding the
+manner of man held out to them to be accepted as their Governor.
+
+He began his speech in a vein of cool, keen sarcasm, taking up, point
+by point, the portions of Bellingham's career that had protruded into
+the public gaze. He showed how he had started as the smallest and lowest
+kind of a political hanger-on, and how he had then become a ward boss.
+He then charged him with the indictment for altering ballots. He pointed
+out how, although this was twenty-three years ago, Bellingham had
+done nothing since which showed that he was any more fit for election
+now than then. To be sure, the mark of the criminal law had appeared
+in his life but once since then. But a negative life, a life lacking
+in results, was no qualification for the high office of Governor. He
+took up the conviction for intoxication and disorderly conduct and the
+payment of the fine of ten years ago. With high scorn, he asked the
+people how they would be pleased to have a man with that record at the
+State House. Then coming down to last night's assault, he declared in
+positive language that he could not believe that any man in his normal
+condition would make such statements as Bellingham had done; that
+there was but one explanation; and that one, an explanation which he
+disliked to consider, but which it was his duty to state. The Governor
+then repeated the account of the meeting as given by the reporters,
+and he asked the people to draw their own inferences. In reference to
+the infamous personal charges made against him, he would condescend to
+reply but to three. He then showed how utterly groundless they were,
+and demanded that Bellingham instantly furnish proof or retract them
+in public. Having finished with a tremendous avalanche of scorn and
+contempt for his opponent's personal character and accusations, the
+Governor turned his attention to the political issues. He showed how
+Bellingham had been unwilling, or else too cowardly, to declare his
+position on any of the great questions; how he had evaded them on every
+stump, and had refused to reply to the direct and pertinent questions
+put to him every night by the Governor, vainly seeking to find out where
+he stood.
+
+The Governor grew more and more rapid in his dictation as his feelings
+mastered him, and the private secretary had hard work in keeping up
+with him. The speech, however, was wholly finished in thirty-five
+minutes; and the secretary drew in his breath in relief and said, "Well,
+Governor, if there is anything left of old Bellingham after you've made
+that speech, they'll have to take a microscope to find it with."
+
+"You think I'm right in making it, don't you?" asked the Governor. "I
+hate to resort to this style of warfare; but I am not obliged to sit
+still in silence forever under such a plan of campaign as they've been
+carrying on, am I?"
+
+"Not at all," said the secretary; "I consider it your duty to the people
+of the State to show him up."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Vivid had been the excitement for the last two weeks at Copley, after it
+was definitely known that Governor Clinton was to visit his old school
+on Founder's Day and make the speech awarding the cups. Founder's Day
+was the great day of the year at Copley. The athletic games came in the
+afternoon, and in the evening the prize speaking, and later a dance.
+Two cups were always awarded for excellence in the field sports: one,
+the Master's Cup, which was awarded to the House, or dormitory, whose
+inmates won the greatest number of points in the games; the other—vastly
+prized by the boy who won it, and whose name was inscribed upon it for
+future generations of boys to admire—was the Founder's Cup, and was
+given to the boy who singly won the most points, showing the greatest
+all-around general excellence in the sports.
+
+Every year there was the most vigorous rivalry between the boys of
+the Master's House and those of Prescott House, the other dormitory,
+for the possession of the Master's Cup; but this year there was still
+keener rivalry for the possession of the person of the Governor. When
+it became known that the Master of Prescott House was a class-mate in
+college of Governor Clinton, the Prescott House boys were certain that
+he would lunch with Mr. Toppan and with them. The Master's House boys
+were equally positive that only the Head Master, "Popper" Stoughton,
+was high enough to do honor to the head of the State. On the Governor's
+decision as to lunch, therefore, depended large transfers of property;
+and it was said that "Goggles" Livingston had even risked a whole week's
+allowance upon the less favored Prescott House side.
+
+Application to studies at the recitation building that morning had been
+very desultory. Although the school was not to be dismissed until one
+o'clock, the delightful impending event of the Governor's arrival proved
+a distraction disastrous to continued efforts of learning. And the
+subdued excitement was so pervasive that when "Stump" Taylor translated
+"_Gubernator navem navigat_," as "the Governor sails a boat," little
+Mr. Saunders, the Latin tutor, forgot to correct him.
+
+At about a quarter before twelve, steps were heard in the outer
+corridor, and every boy who had sufficient ingenuity immediately
+discovered that it was necessary for him to ask permission to leave the
+room and to consult the Master about something.
+
+The Governor crossed the threshold of the old building with an interest
+that was solemn, and even almost painful, for this was the first time
+that he had been back to his old school for eighteen years.
+
+After a few minutes' talk with the Head Master in his room, the Governor
+asked that the whole school might be called together. At the first
+sound of the bell a race began from all over the building toward the
+Master's room. And as Clinton stepped forward to speak, a continuous
+chorus of shrill cheers split the air. "Boys," he said, when a semblance
+of quiet began, "boys, I'm going to make a very short speech." Again
+the cheers broke out. "I see you appreciate that remark as well as your
+elders," he said. "You will be glad of its shortness, because you'll
+have to listen to a longer one this afternoon. All that I've got to say
+is that I've asked Mr. Stoughton to dismiss you now instead of at one
+o'clock. He has thought best to submit to my request before I order out
+the State troops to enforce it. I hope you'll get lots of fresh air and
+sport now before we meet on the field this afternoon. This session is
+now adjourned _sine die_. Those of the Latin class who can't translate
+that will have to stay after school." Tumultuous laughter followed these
+remarks, as if the restricted air of the school-room made a laugh easier
+there than elsewhere, when it was allowed at all. Many of the boys filed
+out at once; but a large number clustered in the doorway and vigorously
+discussed the Governor in low tones.
+
+Clinton looked round the room. How natural it seemed, and how little
+changed! Certainly the school must have been very conservative.
+
+"Why, you've even got the same old desks still," he said to Mr.
+Stoughton. Then he stepped down from the platform and went to a very
+much battered and inked-up desk which stood in front of all the others,
+and directly under the eyes of the master as he sat at his desk. "Who
+sits here now?" he asked, turning to a group of boys beside him.
+
+"That's 'Kid' Nelson's," one said.
+
+"Where is he?" asked Clinton. Amidst a great scuffling and pulling, and
+with many muttered jests flung at him, a handsome boy, old in face but
+small in stature, with a light of deviltry in his eye, came shambling
+forward and gently grinned in a somewhat shame-faced fashion. The
+Governor paused a moment, smiling. "I rather think I know why you sit
+here, Nelson," he said. "I guess my old master had as much trouble with
+me, 'Kid,' as Mr. Stoughton has now with you. That used to be my seat
+most of the time when I was here." Saying this, the Governor sat down
+at the low desk and squeezed his long legs in under the bottom of the
+desk, almost prying it from its iron feet.
+
+Meanwhile "Kid" Nelson straightened up with a proud look, and when he
+went back to the group he was evidently being congratulated as a hero.
+
+As he started to leave the room, Clinton suddenly stopped before a
+full-length portrait of a noble-looking, pleasant-faced man apparently
+about sixty years old. It was his old master—"Old Winthrop," as the
+boys used to call him. He had died ten years ago, and Clinton had
+hardly seen him more than once or twice since he left the school; but
+the picture almost brought the tears to his eyes as he stood there and
+thought how much he owed to that man. Winthrop had been a stern, almost
+relentless, master; but he had had a complete and true understanding
+of a boy's feelings and motives, and his boys had respected him as
+they had respected no one else, then or since. They had, every one of
+them, placed the most absolute confidence and reliance in him. No boy
+ever thought of questioning "Old Winthrop's" decision, whether the
+decision was on a point of school discipline, or athletics, or local
+etiquette, or morals, or base-ball, or religion. He had taught his boys,
+and they had learned the lesson well, that "honor" and "loyalty" were
+the two great things in life; that to do what was not honorable was to
+commit the greatest crime; that to be disloyal to one's friends, to
+one's school, to one's trust, to one's self, was to render one unfit
+to associate with gentlemen. "He made me all that I am now," murmured
+Clinton to himself, and his voice was a little husky. "If I've ever done
+anything well, it was due to him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Governor walked out across the fields with the Master and Mr. Toppan
+in the direction of Prescott House; and when it became noised about
+that, after all, he was to lunch there, and not at the Master's, the
+Prescott boys yelled with joy and jeered at their crestfallen rivals
+across the way.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the way, Clinton stopped to look in at the Chapel, where the prize
+speaking was to take place that evening. He laughed as he saw the
+well-remembered platform with its faded red carpet, and as he thought
+of his woeful failure the last time he had engaged in a speaking
+competition there. How he had vainly and weakly struggled with
+"Webster's Reply to Hayne," and lost his memory in the middle of it,
+and had sat down ignominiously, and how Old Winthrop had said, "Well,
+Clinton, whatever else you may do when you grow up, you will never make
+a speaker. Your effort was the worst I ever heard here." That was the
+only point that Clinton could remember on which Winthrop had ever been
+wrong. Certainly the audiences that were nightly cheering the keen,
+eloquent speeches which the Governor had been making for the past four
+campaigns would vigorously question the fulfilment of Mr. Winthrop's
+prophecy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Well, boys, who is going to win the Founder's Cup to-day?" Clinton
+asked as he sat down in the lounging-room of the Prescott House and a
+crowd of boys stood round the doorway, while the bolder sat uneasily on
+the edge of a table in the middle of the room.
+
+"'Scotty,' I mean Bruce Campbell," replied one, rather grudgingly.
+"He's a Master's House fellow; but we're afraid he'll get it; although
+'Skipper' Cunningham—he's one of us"—he said, pointing to a tall,
+stalwart, nice-looking boy outside in the hall, "will give him a hard
+push for it. You see, 'Scotty's' bound to get three firsts at any rate,
+and it's a close thing in the two-twenty-yard dash. 'Skipper's' good
+for a lot of seconds and one first, anyway," he said, enthusiastically.
+
+"Oh, no, two!" shouted another boy. And thereupon so lively a discussion
+arose that the overawing presence of the Governor was quite forgotten.
+
+"Prescott House is sure of the Master's Cup, anyway," said "Kid" Nelson,
+confidentially, to the Governor; "you can bet on that." Since his
+interview in the school-room, "Kid" had quite taken Clinton under his
+personal care.
+
+Meanwhile, the Governor arose, and examined the pictures of the old
+athletic teams on the wall, and to the delight of the boys pointed
+out his own picture, a disreputable-looking member of one of the old
+foot-ball teams, absolutely unrecognizable now as the portrayal of the
+tall, determined, grave-looking man who stood towering up above his
+devoted Copley School mates for the time being.
+
+And he still further won their undying devotion when, after asking to
+be taken to a certain bedroom upstairs, he very knowingly walked to
+the window, leaned far out, then jerked himself back with a satisfied
+air; and then showed them how a boy, by hanging far out of the window
+while two other boys grasped his legs from within, could reach round
+the corner of the House, get hold of a portico-railing, and escape from
+the room and down to the earth in that fashion. It was undoubtedly
+an immoral thing for the Governor to do, but he could not resist the
+temptation, so delightful was it to find how the memory of all the most
+minute old misdeeds came back.
+
+The Masters of Prescott House, indeed, were very sure that Governor
+Clinton's influence had been very far from good on their charges, when
+during the next week they found that five boys made use of this highly
+reprehensible method of exit from the House during evening study-hour.
+
+And at dinner what could more delight the boys than that Clinton should
+decline to sit at the head of the table, next to the Master and the
+other teachers, but should sit opposite, with a boy on either side,
+where he could learn all the details of the present school life, its
+rivalries, revelries, hardships, and zests!
+
+Time passed quickly, until at three o'clock all assembled on the field
+for the great expected sports. The day was glorious for them; a crisp,
+cold, sunny October day, with the air intensely clear and full of life.
+What a day and what splendid games, thought Clinton. And he cheered
+and shouted like a small boy, and was far less stately than the grave
+First Class fellows who called themselves "Sub-Freshmen" in a manner
+anticipatory of future dignities.
+
+Firsts, Clinton found, counted ten; seconds, six; thirds, three, and
+fourths, one; and the contest between the two houses was as close as
+the greatest lover of sports could desire. And so it happened that when
+the two-hundred-and-twenty yard dash came off, the Master's House had
+won 78 points and Prescott House 80 points; and of the two favorites,
+"Skipper" Cunningham had won 44 and Bruce Campbell 41. It was admitted
+that this race would practically decide the day; for the few remaining
+points, it was fairly well settled in advance, would be equally divided
+between the various champions from the two houses.
+
+"It's a good deal more exciting than a political campaign," said the
+Governor to his friend Toppan.
+
+There was a half hush as the two rivals lined up for the famous event
+in the final heat—all the other competitors having fallen before them in
+the preliminary heats. Both Cunningham and Campbell were shapely formed
+youths, lithe and muscular, as each leaned far forward with his arms
+stretched out in the starting posture, waiting for the signal.
+
+The pistol cracked and the two boys were off. By the time they had gone
+half the distance Campbell was leading by about eight feet. Suddenly he
+was seen to stagger and something appeared to fly off from his legs. He
+fell down upon the track and Cunningham darted by him with the race well
+in hand. As he went by, he looked to see what the matter was, and then
+suddenly stopped and turned around. His Prescott House followers held
+their breath in amazement, dismay, and confusion. Then the spectators
+saw what had happened. Campbell's running-shoe had become loose and the
+spikes had stuck in a clayey bit of soil, pulling the shoe off the foot,
+and causing Campbell's ankle to turn and throw him. Cunningham, panting
+for breath, walked up to Campbell as he rose slowly, and said, "Too bad,
+Bruce, old man; are you hurt?"
+
+"No," said Campbell, "I got my wind a little knocked out. What did you
+stop for?"
+
+"Oh, all right," said Cunningham; "then we'll start the race over
+again." And he walked down to the starting-line in a simple, unconcerned
+way.
+
+And how the boys were cheering him,—even the Prescott House boys, though
+it was a great disappointment to them! The failure to win then might
+cost them both cups; and if Cunningham had won that race, both cups
+would have surely been theirs. But they cheered just the same.
+
+The Governor turned to the Head Master. "By George!" he exclaimed,
+"that's a splendid piece of work. That boy is a boy to be proud of. Did
+you see, he had that race cold? It was a sure thing and he didn't choose
+to win it in that way."
+
+Mr. Stoughton was looking proud and happy. "That's the kind of a boy he
+is," he answered; "and I believe," he added, with enthusiasm, "they all
+are, here."
+
+The Governor was about to say that the credit was due to Stoughton
+when he noticed that preparations were being made to start the race
+over again. Again the pistol sounded and the two were off, this time
+Cunningham doing a little better than before, but still a few feet
+behind Campbell. Toward the end he began to gain, and the Prescott
+House boys plucked up courage again and yelled themselves hoarse; but
+Campbell was still in the lead and finally won by about three feet.
+The rest of the games came out just as expected; and, as prophesied,
+the two-twenty-yard dash was the decisive match, giving the Master's
+cup to the Master's House with 98 points, as against Prescott House
+with 96 points, and the Founder's Cup going to Campbell, with 51 points
+as opposed to Cunningham's 50 points. And so the Master's House boys
+celebrated their victory, and the Prescott House boys celebrated their
+defeated hero's, "Skipper" Cunningham's, deeds with almost as much vigor
+as if they owned the cups. And really it was not much of a defeat after
+all.
+
+After the games, before going back to the school to award the cups
+formally, the Governor went up to where Cunningham stood. "Cunningham,"
+he said, holding out his hand, "I want to shake hands with you. I'm
+proud of my school and that you're in it, and I'm proud of you. I want
+to ask you what made you stop and offer to run the race over again."
+
+"Why," said the "Skipper," blushing and confused and very much
+surprised, "what else could I have done?"
+
+"I know," said Clinton, "but it was only one of the fortunes of war that
+is likely to happen in any contest. The race was yours, legally, even
+if Campbell did have an accident. Why shouldn't you have run it out and
+won the cup for your House and for yourself?"
+
+"Oh," replied the "Skipper," simply, "but that wouldn't have been
+honorable. It wouldn't have been fair and square. No Copley boy would
+do that."
+
+It was all said in so matter of course a way that the Governor saw
+that the idea that elsewhere such a thing was often done had never
+entered the boy's head. As he walked away, the boy's words rang in the
+Governor's ears: "Not fair and square." "Not honorable." "No Copley boy
+would do that."
+
+How the Governor made a splendid speech, and how he called them all "old
+fellows," and how he spoke of the fine traditions of honor which Mr.
+Winthrop began and Mr. Stoughton was continuing, and how he told them
+interesting stories of political fights—where they would be tempted to
+forget some of the Copley standard of conduct—and how he praised old
+"Skipper" Cunningham and said he was as good as the victor, and how he
+said that he was going to present a cup to the school to be fought for
+every year, to be called the "Winthrop Cup," and to be given to the
+second best athlete, and how he said he wanted the "Skipper's" name to
+be placed first upon it, and how he proposed three cheers for "Popper"
+Stoughton—all these things are part of the school history, and are
+handed down from one class to another as they tell of that memorable
+"Governor's Day."
+
+And then all the boys escorted him down to the station, and gave their
+school, class, and House yells, and nearly jerked his arm off in their
+anxiety to shake hands with him. And at six o'clock the Governor and his
+private secretary boarded the limited express, which was due to arrive
+at the great manufacturing city of Dunster at half-past seven, just in
+time for the rally.
+
+"Well, Mr. Porter, I'm sorry you were busy writing out that dictation,
+for you missed a good time. I haven't had as much fun for years. But
+now comes the serious part of life again. Have you got my speech all
+written out?"
+
+Porter produced it; and the Governor read it through, while the lines
+in his face deepened and his look became again severe and judicial.
+"I guess that is sufficiently strong," he said, when he had finished
+reading—"but no more so than the man deserves; isn't that so?" he burst
+out heartily.
+
+"No," said Porter.
+
+"You don't think that I'm taking any unfair advantage of him?" Clinton
+asked, in a thoughtful manner. "Of course, his getting drunk may have
+been more in the nature of an accident than anything else and doesn't
+necessarily mean that a man is unfit," he said half to himself. "It's
+a rather small issue, isn't it, to make against a man?"
+
+"_You_ didn't make it; he did," answered Porter.
+
+"You're right," said the Governor, suddenly, and he began to study the
+speech carefully in order to get it clearly in his head. "Let me have
+those copies of the court record," he said. Porter handed them over.
+"I don't want to use these against a man if it wouldn't be a square
+thing to do," again argued the Governor, "I don't want to take unfair
+advantage of a weakness on his part."
+
+"As I said before," replied the private secretary, "I consider it your
+duty to the party."
+
+"Of course," said the Governor, "that makes the difference; if only
+I personally were the gainer, I might hesitate, but the party welfare
+demands it."
+
+At half-past seven the train drew into the station in Dunster; and a
+delegation of the city committee met the Governor with a barouche and
+four horses and a band playing "Hail to the Chief," to the Governor's
+great weariness. At the city hall, where the rally was to be held, a
+large crowd of representative men of the party were assembled in one of
+the ante-rooms behind the stage. As the party leaders filed up, Clinton
+addressed a few happy words to each, calling most of them by name, for
+he had spoken in Dunster before.
+
+Then the signal was given and the chairman of the meeting, looking
+worried and overweighted by the responsibilities of the occasion,
+marched up on the stage with the Governor, the rest shambling on
+behind in a shamefaced manner and with a certain want of confidence,
+like a flock of sheep. While the chairman was making his speech of
+introduction, which occupied thirty-five minutes, and during which he
+carefully anticipated every point which the real speakers of the evening
+might make, the Governor took out the pages of his speech, together
+with the court documents, and again carefully read them through. At
+last the chairman finished and the Governor walked slowly forward on
+the platform. The audience cheered wildly and the band hurriedly played
+"Hail to the Chief." The Governor took his manuscript and the other
+papers out of his breast-pocket, laid them on the reading-desk, opened
+them, gave a last glance at them, and then stood waiting for the uproar
+to subside.
+
+  [Illustration: Clinton examined them with curiosity.—Page 327.]
+
+As he stood there looking at the excited audience, a man's face in the
+row next to the front caught his eye, and he looked hard at him. It
+seemed familiar. He gazed still harder; and then saw that it was no
+one whom he knew, but that the face was the very image of "Skipper"
+Cunningham's. Like a flash Clinton's mind reverted to the scene at
+Copley School. He heard the frank, manly, ringing tones of Cunningham
+as he replied to the Governor's remarks.... Then Clinton perceived that
+the audience was waiting for him, and he began,
+
+"My friends of Dunster, not alone my party mates, I thank you for this
+warm welcome. I have tried my best while your Governor to earn it...."
+
+Those who were there said that Governor Clinton had never before in his
+life made so strong and so ringing a speech. The argument was searching,
+filled with sarcasm, and unanswerable. It stirred his audience from the
+bottom of their souls, for the Governor's words seemed instinct with
+truth and sincerity. As he sat patiently waiting for the local candidate
+for the Legislature, who was speaking on painfully uninteresting local
+issues, to finish, Clinton felt, himself, that his speech had distinctly
+been a success. He also felt that he had done right.
+
+After the Governor and his private secretary, Mr. Porter, rode back to
+the hotel, he said, "Porter, I wish you'd take down a note which I want
+to dictate to-night to Bellingham. Enclose with it the manuscript of
+my speech and the copies of those court records. Take a copy of it and
+send it to-night."
+
+  [Illustration: "I'm proud of my school and that you're in it, and I'm
+   proud of you."—Page 331.]
+
+On reaching the hotel the note was written and mailed with the
+enclosures that night; and the Bellingham episode in the campaign
+appeared to be closed so far as Clinton was concerned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Governor reached the State House the next day about noon; and at
+three o'clock it was announced to him that Mr. Bellingham was outside
+and desired to see him.
+
+"This is a nuisance," muttered the Governor as Bellingham entered. The
+latter walked up to the Governor and held out his hand.
+
+"Governor," he said, "I am here to apologize to you most sincerely for
+what I said in my speech the other night. I want to tell you that I
+will make full explanation of it in the newspapers and to my audience
+to-night. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate and how much I thank
+you for your note and for your forbearance in not delivering that speech
+which you sent me. For I admit you had the greatest provocation to
+return the attack."
+
+  [Illustration: He fell down upon the track and Cunningham darted by
+   him with the race well in hand.—Page 331.
+   Drawn by F. C. Yohn.]
+
+"Oh, that's all right," replied Clinton. "It's all over with now. Sit
+down."
+
+Just at that moment Jim Blakely and Dawson, the _Standard_ reporter,
+were waiting outside in the private secretary's office for a chance to
+see Clinton, and conversing excitedly with Mr. Porter.
+
+"What in Heaven's name made the Governor give up his idea of attacking
+Bellingham in his speech last night?" asked Blakely. "I thought we had
+it all decided on that he was to produce those convictions and make a
+rousing assault on that blackguardly politician," he continued; "and
+now he goes up to Dunster and makes a speech with not a word in it on
+Bellingham's personal record, and confines himself to political issues.
+He's a damned fool, that's what he is. He's throwing away his election."
+
+"I don't know," said Porter, "how it happened. All I know is, that he
+had his speech all prepared and was studying it all the way to Dunster.
+He had it on his desk before him, and I was never so surprised in
+all my life as I was when I heard him go on without a word regarding
+Bellingham's career or in reply to his disreputable assaults. And you
+could have knocked me down with a feather when the Governor told me last
+night to write to Bellingham and enclose the legal papers. Wait a minute
+and I'll show you what he wrote. I know I can rely on you two not to
+make it public."
+
+  [Illustration: The Governor's words seemed instinct with truth and
+   sincerity.—Page 333.]
+
+Both men nodded, and Porter took up some paper on his desk and read:
+
+     "ALFRED P. BELLINGHAM, ESQ.,
+
+     "Dear Sir:—I have read your remarks of last night and I
+     enclose you the speech which I intended to deliver in reply
+     to them. It will never be delivered, however. I also enclose
+     you certain documents which may be of interest to you. Upon
+     careful consideration of these and of your recent course in
+     this campaign, I feel sure that you will be of the opinion,
+     as a gentleman, that the way to your election or to mine in
+     this State does not lie along such a road.
+
+                                             "Yours truly,
+                                                   "ROBERT CLINTON."
+
+"Well, I call the Governor, with all due respect, a tenderfoot," said
+the reporter, whistling loudly as he heard the letter. "Did the Governor
+give you any explanation of his change of heart?"
+
+"Nothing very intelligible," answered Porter. "He said something about
+Copley School that I couldn't make out."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And now," said Bellingham, inside the Executive Chamber, to Clinton,
+"I want to explain to you the other night's speech. I admit that I was
+drunk. I admit also that many years ago I was indicted for fraud at
+an election, and I was convicted and fined for drunkenness; but, God
+help me, I believe that during the past twenty years I have lived down
+these things. I hadn't touched a drop of liquor for five years up to
+the other night. It was, you remember, a very biting cold night, and
+I had driven six miles from the railroad station and was thoroughly
+chilled through. I felt it in my lungs, and my host over-persuaded me to
+take some whiskey. It went straight to my head, and you unfortunately
+know the result. But as I said before, Governor, I cannot sufficiently
+apologize to you and thank you for your forbearance."
+
+The Governor paused a moment. "You needn't thank me," he said. "You
+should thank 'Skipper' Cunningham."
+
+Bellingham looked confused and waited for the Governor to explain his
+remark. The Governor, however, offered no explanation. Instead, he said,
+abruptly, "Bellingham, I'm going to tell you, as man to man, that I
+think you've done a very square thing by coming here to me to-day and
+saying what you've said. I think it was a mighty frank and honorable
+thing in you to do. I'm proud to be fighting you as my opponent."
+
+  [Illustration: "Governor," he said, "I am here to apologize to
+   you."—Page 334.]
+
+He paused again, and then suddenly asked, "You never were a Copley
+School boy, were you?"
+
+"No," said Bellingham.
+
+"You ought to have been," answered the Governor.
+
+
+
+
+THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
+
+Edited by Sidney Colvin
+
+SARANAC LAKE:—WINTER, 1887-1888
+
+
+During the two years and nine months of Stevenson's residence at
+Bournemouth preceding the date of his father's death, he had made no
+apparent progress toward recovery. Every period of respite had been
+quickly followed by a relapse, and all his work, brilliant and varied
+as it was, had been done under conditions which would have reduced
+almost any other man to inactivity. The close and frequently recurring
+struggles against the danger of death from hemorrhage and exhaustion,
+which he had been used, when they first occurred, to find exciting,
+grew in the long run merely irksome, and even his persistent high
+courage and gayety, sustained as they were by the devoted affection of
+his family and many friends, began occasionally, for the first time,
+to fail him. Accordingly when in May, 1887, the death of his father
+severed the strongest of the ties which bound him to the old country,
+he was very ready to listen to the advice of his physicians, who were
+unanimous in thinking his case not hopeless, but urged him to try
+some complete change of climate, surroundings, and mode of life. His
+wife's connections pointing to the West, he thought of the mountain
+health-resorts of Colorado, and of their growing reputation for the cure
+of lung patients. Having let his house at Bournemouth, he accordingly
+took passage on board the steamship Ludgate Hill, sailing for New York
+from London on August 17, 1887, with his whole party, consisting of
+his wife, his widowed mother, whom they had persuaded to join them, his
+young stepson, and a trusted servant, Valentine.
+
+It was the moment when his reputation had first reached its height
+in the United States, owing especially to the immense impression
+made by the _Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. He experienced
+consequently—for the first time—the pleasures, such as they were, of
+celebrity, and also its inconveniences; found the most hospitable of
+refuges in the house of his kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, of
+Newport; and quickly made many other friends, including the owner and
+the editor of this Magazine, from whom he immediately received and
+accepted very advantageous offers of work. Having been dissuaded from
+braving, for the present, the fatigue of the long journey to Colorado
+and the extreme rigors of its winter climate, he determined to try
+instead a season at the mountain station of Saranac Lake, in the
+Adirondack Mountains, New York State, which had lately been coming into
+reputation as a place of cure. There, under the care of the well-known
+resident physician, Dr. Trudeau, he spent nearly seven months, from
+the end of September, 1887, to the end of April, 1888, with results
+on the whole favorable to his own health, though not to that of his
+wife, who at these high altitudes was never well. His work during the
+winter consisted of the twelve papers published in the course of 1888
+in SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, including, perhaps, the most striking of all
+his essays, _A Chapter on Dreams_, _Pulvis et Umbra_, _Beggars_, _The
+Lantern Bearers_, _Random Memories_, etc.; as well as the greater
+part of the _Master of Ballantrae_ and _The Wrong Box_—the last
+originally conceived and drafted by Mr. Lloyd Osbourne—and the ballad
+of _Ticonderoga_.
+
+  [Illustration:
+   Lloyd Osbourne.      Mrs. Stevenson.      R. L. Stevenson.
+
+   On the Porch of the Cottage at Saranac, in the Adirondacks, U. S. A.
+   (From a Photograph.)]
+
+The following letters are extracted from those which tell of his voyage
+to New York and his reception there at this date, and of his winter's
+life and work at Saranac:
+
+
+                         NEWPORT, R. I., U. S. A. [September, 1887].
+
+     MY DEAR COLVIN,—So long it went excellent well, and I had a
+     time I am glad to have had; really enjoying my life. There
+     is nothing like being at sea, after all. And O why have I
+     allowed myself to rot so long on land? But on the Banks I
+     caught a cold, and I have not yet got over it. My reception
+     here was idiotic to the last degree.... It is very silly, and
+     not pleasant, except where humor enters; and I confess the
+     poor interviewer lads pleased me. They are too good for their
+     trade; avoided anything I asked them to avoid, and were no
+     more vulgar in their reports than they could help. I liked
+     the lads.
+
+     O, it was lovely on our stable-ship, chock full of stallions.
+     She rolled heartily, rolled some of the fittings out of our
+     state-room, and I think a more dangerous cruise (except that
+     it was summer) it would be hard to imagine. But we enjoyed
+     it to the masthead, all but Fanny; and even she perhaps a
+     little. When we got in, we had run out of beer, stout, cocoa,
+     soda-water, water, fresh meat, and (almost) of biscuit. But
+     it was a thousandfold pleasanter than a great big Birmingham
+     liner like a new hotel; and we liked the officers, and made
+     friends with the quartermasters, and I (at least) made a
+     friend of a baboon (for we carried a cargo of apes), whose
+     embraces have pretty near cost me a coat. The passengers
+     improved, and were a very good specimen lot, with no drunkard,
+     no gambling that I saw, and less grumbling and backbiting than
+     one would have asked of poor human nature. Apes, stallions,
+     cows, matches, hay, and poor men-folk all or almost all came
+     successfully to land—Yours ever,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+  [Illustration: The Cottage at Saranac Occupied by Robert Louis
+   Stevenson.
+   Drawn from a photograph by Jules Guérin.]
+
+
+                               [NEWPORT, U. S. A., September, 1887.]
+
+     MY DEAR JAMES,—Here we are at Newport in the house of the
+     good Fairchilds; and a sad burthen we have laid upon their
+     shoulders. I have been in bed practically ever since I came.
+     I caught a cold on the Banks after having had the finest
+     time conceivable, and enjoyed myself more than I could have
+     hoped on board our strange floating menagerie; stallions and
+     monkeys and matches made our cargo; and the vast continent of
+     these incongruities rolled the while like a haystack; and the
+     stallions stood hypnotised by the motion, looking through the
+     ports at our dinner-table, and winked when the crockery was
+     broken; and the little monkeys stared at each other in their
+     cages, and were thrown overboard like little bluish babies;
+     and the big monkey, Jacko, scoured about the ship and rested
+     willingly in my arms, to the ruin of my clothing; and the man
+     of the stallions made a bower of the black tarpaulin, and sat
+     therein at the feet of a raddled divinity, like a picture on
+     a box of chocolates; and the other passengers, when they were
+     not sick, looked on and laughed. Take all this picture, and
+     make it roll till the bell shall sound unexpected notes and
+     the fittings shall break loose in our stateroom, and you have
+     the voyage of the _Ludgate Hill_. She arrived in the port of
+     New York, without beer, porter, soda-water, curaçoa, fresh
+     meat, or fresh water; and yet we lived, and we regret her.
+
+     My wife is a good deal run down, and I am no great shakes.
+
+     America is, as I remarked, a fine place to eat in, and a
+     great place for kindness; but, Lord, what a silly thing is
+     popularity; I envy the cool obscurity of Skerryvore. If it
+     even paid, said Meanness! and was abashed at himself.—Yours
+     most sincerely,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                 [NEW YORK; end of September, 1887.]
+
+     MY DEAR S. C.,—Your delightful letter has just come, and finds
+     me in a New York Hotel, waiting the arrival of a sculptor
+     (St. Gaudens) who is making a medallion of yours truly and who
+     is (to boot) one of the handsomest and nicest fellows I have
+     often seen. I caught a cold on the Banks; fog is not for me;
+     nearly died of interviewers and visitors, during twenty-four
+     hours in New York; cut for Newport with Lloyd and Valentine,
+     a journey like a fairy-land for the most engaging beauties,
+     one little rocky and pine-shaded cove after another, each
+     with a house and a boat at anchor, so that I left my heart in
+     each and marvelled why American authors had been so unjust to
+     their country; caught another cold on the train; arrived at
+     Newport to go to bed and grow worse, and to stay in bed until
+     I left again; the Fairchilds proving during this time kindness
+     itself; Mr. Fairchild simply one of the most engaging men in
+     the world, and one of the children, Blair, _aet._ ten, a great
+     joy and amusement in his solemn adoring attitude to the author
+     of _Treasure Island_.
+
+     Here I was interrupted by the arrival of my sculptor. I have
+     begged him to make a medallion of himself and give me a copy.
+     I will not take up the sentence in which I was wandering so
+     long, but begin fresh. I was ten or twelve days at Newport;
+     then came back convalescent to New York. Fanny and Lloyd are
+     off to the Adirondacks to see if that will suit; and the rest
+     of us leave Monday (this is Saturday) to follow them up. I
+     hope we may manage to stay there all winter. I have a splendid
+     appetite and have on the whole recovered well after a mighty
+     sharp attack. I am now on a salary of £500 a year for twelve
+     articles in _Scribner's Magazine_ on what I like; it is more
+     than £500 but I cannot calculate more precisely [it was £700].
+     You have no idea how much is made of me here; I was offered
+     £2000 for a weekly article—eh heh! how is that? but I refused
+     that lucrative job. They would drive even an honest man into
+     being a mere lucre-hunter in three weeks; to make _me gober_
+     is I think more difficult; I have my own views on that point
+     and stick to them. The success of _Underwoods_ is gratifying.
+     You see, the verses are sane, that is their strong point, and
+     it seems is strong enough to carry them.
+
+     A thousand thanks for your grand letter, ever yours,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                          SARANAC LAKE, ADIRONDACKS,
+                                                  NEW YORK, U. S. A.
+                                                    [October, 1887.]
+
+     MY DEAR BOB,
+
+     The cold [of Colorado] was too rigorous for me; I could not
+     risk the long railway voyage, and the season was too late to
+     risk the Eastern, Cape Hatteras side of the steamer one; so
+     here we stuck and stick. We have a wooden house on a hill top,
+     overlooking a river, and a village about a quarter of a mile
+     away, and very wooded hills; the whole scene is very Highland,
+     bar want of heather and wooden houses.
+
+     I have got one good thing of my sea voyage; it is proved the
+     sea agrees heartily with me, and my mother likes it; so if
+     I get any better, or no worse, my mother will likely hire a
+     yacht for a month or so in summer. Good Lord! what fun! Wealth
+     is only useful for two things; a yacht and a string quartette.
+     For these two I will sell my soul. Except for these I hold
+     that £700 a year is as much as anybody can possibly want; and
+     I have had more, so I know, for the extry coins were of no
+     use excepting for illness, which damns everything.
+
+     I was so happy on board that ship, I could not have believed
+     it possible; we had the beastliest weather, and many
+     discomforts; but the mere fact of its being a tramp-ship
+     gave us many comforts; we could cut about with the men and
+     officers, stay in the wheel-house, discuss all manner of
+     things, and really be a little at sea. And truly there is
+     nothing else. I had literally forgotten what happiness was,
+     and the full mind—full of external and physical things, not
+     full of cares and labours and rot about a fellow's behaviour.
+     My heart literally sang; I truly care for nothing so much as
+     for that. We took so North a course that we saw Newfoundland;
+     no-one in the ship had ever seen it before.
+
+     It was beyond belief to me how she rolled; in seemingly smooth
+     water, the bell striking, the fittings bounding out of our
+     stateroom. It is worth having lived these last years, partly
+     because I have written some better books, which is always
+     pleasant, but chiefly to have had the joy of this voyage. I
+     have been made a lot of here, and it is sometimes pleasant,
+     sometimes the reverse; but I could give it all up, and agree
+     that — was the author of my works, for a good seventy ton
+     schooner and the coins to keep her on. And to think there
+     are parties with yachts who would make the exchange! I know a
+     little about fame now; it is no good compared to a yacht; and
+     anyway there is more fame in a yacht, more genuine fame; to
+     cross the Atlantic and come to anchor in Newport (say) with
+     the Union Jack, and go ashore for your letters and hang about
+     the pier, among the holiday yachtsmen—that's fame, that's
+     glory—and nobody can take it away; they can't say your book
+     is bad; you _have_ crossed the Atlantic. I should do it South
+     by the West Indies, to avoid the damned banks; and probably
+     come home by steamer, and leave the skipper to bring the yacht
+     home.
+
+     Well, if all goes well, we shall maybe sail out of Southampton
+     water some of these days and take a run to Havre, and try the
+     Baltic, or somewhere.
+
+                                                  Love to you all
+                                                    Ever your afft.
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+     Low was delightful as always. St. Gaudens, a very nice fellow
+     too, has done a medallion of me.
+
+
+[The following refers to a review by Mr. Gosse of Stevenson's volume
+of verse called "Underwoods." The book had been published a few weeks
+previously, and is dedicated, as readers will remember, to a number of
+physicians who had attended him at sundry times and places.]
+
+                                       SARANAC LAKE, Oct. 8th, 1887.
+
+     MY DEAR GOSSE,—I have just read your article twice, with
+     cheers of approving laughter; I do not believe you ever wrote
+     anything so funny; Tyndall's 'shell,' the passage on the
+     Davos press and its invaluable issues, and that on V. Hugo
+     and Swinburne, are exquisite; so, I say it more ruefully, is
+     the touch about the doctors. For the rest, I am very glad you
+     like my verses so well; and the qualities you ascribe to them
+     seem to me well found and well named. I own to that kind of
+     candour you attribute to me; when I am frankly interested, I
+     suppose I fancy the public will be so too—and when I am moved,
+     I am sure of it. It has been my luck hitherto to meet with no
+     staggering disillusion. 'Before' and 'After' may be two; and
+     yet I believe the habit is now too thoroughly ingrained to be
+     altered. About the doctors, you were right, that dedication
+     has been the subject of some pleasantries that made me grind,
+     and of your happily touched reproof which made me blush.
+     And to miscarry in a dedication is an abominable form of
+     book-wreck; I am a good captain, I would rather lose the tent
+     and save my dedication.
+
+     I am at Saranac Lake in the Adirondacks, I suppose for
+     the winter; it seems a first-rate place; we have a house
+     in the eye of many winds, with a view of a piece of
+     running water—Highland, all but the dear hue of peat—and
+     of many hills—Highland also, but for the lack of heather.
+     Soon the snow will close on us; we are here some twenty
+     miles—twenty-seven they say, but this I profoundly
+     disbelieve—in the woods; communication by letter is slow and
+     (let me be consistent) aleatory; by telegram is as near as
+     may be impossible.
+
+     I had some experience of American appreciation; I liked a
+     little of it, but there is too much; a little of that would
+     go a long way to spoil a man; and I like myself better in the
+     woods. I am so damned candid and ingenuous (for a cynic), and
+     so much of a 'cweatu' of impulse—aw' (if you remember that
+     admirable Leech), that I begin to shirk any more taffy; I
+     think I begin to like it too well. But let us trust the Gods;
+     they have a rod in pickle; reverently I doff my trousers, and
+     with screwed eyes await the _amari aliquid_ of the great God
+     Busby.
+
+     I thank you for the article in all ways, and remain yours
+     affectionately,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                             SARANAC, October, 1887.
+
+     [To W. H. Low.]
+
+     SIR,—I have to trouble you with the following _paroles bien
+     senties_. We are here at a first-rate place. 'Baker's' is the
+     name of our house; but we don't address there, we prefer the
+     tender care of the Post-Office, as more aristocratic (it is
+     no use to telegraph even to the care of the Post-Office, who
+     does not give a single damn). Baker's has a prophet's chamber,
+     which the hypercritical might describe as a garret with a hole
+     in the floor; in that garret, sir, I have to trouble you and
+     your wife to come and slumber. Not now, however: with manly
+     hospitality, I choke off any sudden impulse. Because first, my
+     wife and my mother are gone (a note for the latter, strongly
+     suspected to be in the hand of your talented wife, now sits
+     silent on the mantel shelf), one to Niagara and t' other to
+     Indianapolis. Because, second, we are not yet installed. And
+     because, third, I won't have you till I have a buffalo robe
+     and leggings, lest you should want to paint me as a plain
+     man, which I am not, but a rank Saranacker and wild man of
+     the woods.
+
+                                         Yours,
+                                            ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+     I am well.
+
+
+[The Wondrous Tale referred to in the following is Stevenson's _Black
+Arrow_, which had been through Mr. Archer's hands in proof.]
+
+                                        SARANAC LAKE, October, 1887.
+
+     DEAR ARCHER,—Many thanks for the Wondrous Tale. It is scarcely
+     a work of genius, as I believe you felt. Thanks also for your
+     pencillings; though I defend 'shrew,' or at least many of the
+     shrews.
+
+     We are here (I suppose) for the winter in the Adirondacks,
+     a hill and forest country on the Canadian border of New York
+     State, very unsettled and primitive and cold, and healthful,
+     or we are the more bitterly deceived. I believe it will do
+     well for me; but must not boast.
+
+     My wife is away to Indiana to see her family; my mother,
+     Lloyd, and I remain here in the cold, which has been exceeding
+     sharp, and the hill air, which is inimitably fine. We all eat
+     bravely, and sleep well, and make great fires, and get along
+     like one o'clock.
+
+     I am now a salaried party; I am a _bourgeois_ now; I am to
+     write a monthly paper for Scribner's, at a scale of payment
+     which makes my teeth ache for shame and diffidence. The
+     editor is, I believe, to apply to you; for we were talking
+     over likely men, and when I instanced you, he said he had had
+     his eye upon you from the first. It is worth while, perhaps,
+     to get in tow with the Scribners; they are such thorough
+     gentle-folk in all ways that it is always a pleasure to deal
+     with them. I am like to be a millionaire if this goes on, and
+     be publicly hanged at the social revolution; well, I would
+     prefer that to dying in my bed; and it would be a godsend to
+     my biographer, if ever I have one. What are you about? I hope
+     you are all well and in good case and spirits, as I am now,
+     after a most nefast experience of despondency before I left;
+     but indeed I was quite run down. Remember me to Mrs. Archer,
+     and give my respects to Tom—Yours very truly,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+
+[The lady to whom the following letter is addressed, as well as a good
+many others to come, had been a close friend of the Stevenson family
+at Bournemouth, and on their departure had been trusted to keep an eye
+on their interests in connection with their house (which had been let)
+and other matters, and to report thereon from time to time. In their
+correspondence Stevenson is generally referred to as the Squire and the
+lady as the Gamekeeper.]
+
+                                     [SARANAC LAKE, December, 1887.]
+
+     MY DEAR MISS BOODLE,—I am so much afraid, our gamekeeper may
+     weary of unacknowledged reports! Hence, in the midst of a
+     perfect horror of detestable weathers of a quite incongruous
+     strain, and with less desire for correspondence than—well,
+     than—well, with no desire for correspondence, behold me
+     dash into the breach. Do keep up your letters. They are most
+     delightful to this exiled backwoods family; and in your next,
+     we shall hope somehow or other to hear better news of you
+     and yours—that, in the first place—and to hear more news of
+     our beasts and birds and kindly fruits of the earth and those
+     human tenants who are (truly) too much with us.
+
+     I am very well; better than for years: that is for good.
+     But then my wife is no great shakes; the place does not suit
+     her—it is my private opinion that no place does—and she is
+     now away down to New York for a change, which (as Lloyd is
+     in Boston) leaves my mother and me and Valentine alone in
+     our wind-beleaguered hilltop hatbox of a house. You should
+     hear the cows butt against the walls in the early morning
+     while they feed; you should also see our back log when the
+     thermometer goes (as it does go) away—away below zero, till
+     it can be seen no more by the eye of man—not the thermometer,
+     which is still perfectly visible, but the mercury, which curls
+     up into the bulb like a hibernating bear; you should also see
+     the lad who "does chores" for us, with his red stockings and
+     his thirteen year old face, and his highly manly tramp into
+     the room; and his two alternative answers to all questions
+     about the weather; either "Cold," or with a really lyrical
+     movement of the voice, "_Lovely_—raining!"
+
+     Will you take this miserable scrap for what it is worth? Will
+     you also understand that I am the man to blame, and my wife
+     is really almost too much out of health to write—or at least
+     doesn't write?—And believe me, with kind remembrances to Mrs.
+     Boodle and your sister, very sincerely yours,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+
+                                       SARANAC LAKE, Winter, 1887-8.
+
+     MY DEAR HENRY JAMES,—It may please you to know how our family
+     has been employed. In the silence of the snow the afternoon
+     lamp has lighted an eager fireside group; my mother reading,
+     Fanny, Lloyd, and I devoted listeners; and the work was
+     really one of the best works I ever heard; and its author is
+     to be praised and honoured; and what do you suppose is the
+     name of it? and have you ever read it yourself? and (I am
+     bound I will get to the bottom of the page before I blow the
+     gaff, if I have to fight it out on this line all summer; for
+     if you have not to turn a leaf, there can be no suspense,
+     the conspectory eye being swift to pick out proper names;
+     and without suspense, there can be little pleasure in this
+     world, to my mind at least), and, in short, the name of it
+     is _Roderick Hudson_, if you please. My dear James, it is
+     very spirited, and very sound, and very noble too. Hudson,
+     Mrs. Hudson, Rowland, O, all first-rate: Rowland a very fine
+     fellow; Hudson as good as he can stick (did you know Hudson? I
+     suspect you did), Mrs. H. his real born mother, a thing rarely
+     managed in fiction.
+
+     We are all keeping pretty fit and pretty hearty; but this
+     letter is not from me to you, it is from a reader of R. H. to
+     the author of the same, and it says nothing, and has nothing
+     to say but thank you.
+
+     We are going to re-read _Casamassima_ as a proper pendant.
+     Sir, I think these two are your best, and care not who knows
+     it.
+
+     May I beg you, the next time _Roderick_ is printed off, to
+     go over the sheets of the last few chapters, and strike out
+     'immense' and 'tremendous'? You have simply dropped them there
+     like your pocket-handkerchief; all you have to do is to pick
+     them up and pouch them, and your room—what do I say?—your
+     cathedral! will be swept and garnished.—I am, dear sir, your
+     delighted reader,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+     _P.S._—Perhaps it is a pang of causeless honesty, perhaps I
+     hope it will set a value on my praise of _Roderick_, perhaps
+     it's a burst of the diabolic, but I must break out with the
+     news that I can't bear the _Portrait of a Lady_. I read it
+     all, and I wept too; but I can't stand your having written it;
+     and I beg you will write no more of the like. _Infra_, sir;
+     Below you: I can't help it—it may be your favourite work, but
+     in my eyes it's BELOW YOU to write and me to read. I thought
+     _Roderick_ was going to be another such at the beginning;
+     and I cannot describe my pleasure as I found it taking bones
+     and blood, and looking out at me with a moved and human
+     countenance, whose lineaments are written in my memory until
+     my last of days.
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+     My wife begs your forgiveness; I believe for her silence.
+
+
+[The following narrates the beginning of the author's labours on the
+_Master of Ballantrae_. An unfinished paper written some years later in
+Samoa, and intended for SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, tells how the story first
+took in his mind. _See_ Ed. ed. Miscellanies, vol. iv., p. 297.]
+
+                                     [SARANAC, December 24, 1887-8.]
+
+     MY DEAR COLVIN,—Thank you for your explanations. I have done
+     no more Virgil since I finished the seventh book, for I have
+     first been eaten up with Taine, and next have fallen head over
+     heels into a new tale, _The Master of Ballantrae_. No thought
+     have I now apart from it, and I have got along up to page
+     ninety-two of the draught with great interest. It is to me a
+     most seizing tale: there are some fantastic elements, the most
+     is a dead genuine human problem—human tragedy, I should say
+     rather. It will be about as long, I imagine, as _Kidnapped_.
+
+     DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+          (1) My old Lord Durrisdeer.
+
+          (2) The Master of Ballantrae, _and_
+
+          (3) Henry Durie, _his sons_.
+
+          (4) Clementina, _engaged to the first, married to
+          the second_.
+
+          (5) Ephraim Mackellar, _land steward at Durrisdeer
+          and narrator of the most of the book_.
+
+          (6) Francis Burke, Chevalier de St. Louis, _one of
+          the Prince Charlie's Irishmen and narrator of the
+          rest_.
+
+     Besides these many instant figures, most of them dumb or
+     nearly so: Jessie Brown, the whore, Captain Crail, Captain
+     McCombie, our old friend Alan Breck, our old friend Riach
+     (both only for an instant), Teach the pirate (vulgarly
+     Blackbeard), John Paul and Macconochie, servants at
+     Durrisdeer. The date is from 1745 to '65 (about). The scene
+     near Kirkcudbright, in the States, and for a little moment
+     in the French East Indies. I have done most of the big work,
+     the quarrel, duel between the brothers, and announcement of
+     the death to Clementina and my Lord—Clementina, Henry, and
+     Mackellar (nicknamed Squaretoes) are really very fine fellows;
+     the Master is all I know of the devil; I have known hints
+     of him, in the world, but always cowards: he is as bold as
+     a lion, but with the same deadly, causeless duplicity I have
+     watched with so much surprise in my two cowards. 'Tis true,
+     I saw a hint of the same nature in another man who was not a
+     coward; but he had other things to attend to; the Master has
+     nothing else but his devilry. Here come my visitors ... and
+     have now gone, or the first relay of them; and I hope no more
+     may come. For mark you, sir, this is our 'day'—Saturday, as
+     ever was; and here we sit, my mother and I, before a large
+     wood fire and await the enemy with the most steadfast courage;
+     and without snow and greyness: and the woman Fanny in New
+     York, for her health which is far from good; and the lad
+     Lloyd at the inn in the village because he has a cold; and the
+     handmaid Valentine abroad in a sleigh upon her messages; and
+     to-morrow Christmas and no mistake. Such is human life: _la
+     carrière humaine_. I will enclose, if I remember, the required
+     autograph.
+
+     I will do better, put it on the back of this page. Love
+     to all, and mostly, my very dear Colvin, to yourself. For
+     whatever I say or do, or don't say or do, you may be very sure
+     I am,—Yours always affectionately,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                            SARANAC, February, 1888.
+
+     Raw Haste Half Sister to Delay.
+
+     DEAR MR. BURLINGAME,—1. Enclosed please find another paper.
+
+     2. There will be another severe engagement over the _Master_;
+     a large part will have to be rehandled. I am very sorry; but
+     you see what comes of my trying to hurry. As soon as I have
+     got a bit ahead again with the papers I shall tackle this job.
+     I am better; my wife also.—Yours sincerely,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+     _P.S._, and a _P.S._ with a vengeance.—Pray send me the tale
+     of the proof if already printed—if not, then the tale of
+     the MS.—and—throw the type down. I will of course bear the
+     expense. I am going to recast the whole thing in the third
+     person; this version is one large error. Keep standing,
+     however, the Chevalier's narration, as I _may_ leave that in
+     the first person.
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                                           _Monday._
+
+     To yesterday's two barrels I add two requests. 1st. Will you
+     let the cost of the printing stand over against the _Master_,
+     as otherwise I may be involved in 'pecuniary embarrassments'?
+     And that, sir, is no joke. 2nd. Will you send me (from the
+     library) some of the works of my dear old G. P. R. James.
+     With the following specially I desire to make or to renew
+     acquaintance: _The Songster_, _The Gypsy_, _The Convict_, _The
+     Stepmother_, _The Gentleman of the Old School_, _The Robber_.
+
+     Excusez du peu.
+
+     This sudden return to an ancient favorite hangs upon an
+     accident. The 'Franklin County Library' contains two works of
+     his, _The Cavalier_ and _Morley Einstein_. I read the first
+     with indescribable amusement—it was worse than I feared, and
+     yet somehow engaging; the second (to my surprise) was better
+     than I dared to hope: a good, honest, dull, interesting tale,
+     with a genuine old-fashioned talent in the invention when not
+     strained; and a genuine old-fashioned feeling for the English
+     language. This experience awoke appetite, and you see I have
+     taken steps to stay it.
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                            SARANAC, February, 1888.
+
+     DEAR MR. BURLINGAME,—1. Of course then don't use it. Dear Man,
+     I write these to please you, not myself, and you know a main
+     sight better than I do what is good. In that case, however,
+     I enclose another paper, and return the corrected proof of
+     _Pulvis et Umbra_, so that we may be afloat.
+
+     2. I want to say a word as to the _Master_. (The _Master of
+     Ballantrae_ shall be the name by all means.) If you like and
+     want it, I leave it to you to make an offer. You may remember
+     I thought the offer you made when I was still in England too
+     small; by which I did not at all mean, I thought it less
+     than it was worth, but too little to tempt me to undergo
+     the disagreeables of serial publication. This tale (if you
+     want it) you are to have; for it is the least I can do for
+     you; and you are to observe that the sum you pay me for my
+     articles going far to meet my wants, I am quite open to be
+     satisfied with less than formerly. I tell you I do dislike
+     this battle of the dollars. I feel sure you all pay too much
+     here in America; and I beg you not to spoil me any more. For
+     I am getting spoiled; I do not want wealth, and I feel these
+     big sums demoralize me.
+
+     My wife came here pretty ill, she had a dreadful bad night;
+     to-day she is better. But now Valentine is ill; and Lloyd
+     and I have got breakfast, and my hand somewhat shakes after
+     washing-dishes.—Yours very sincerely,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+     _P.S._—Please order me the _Evening Post_ for two months. My
+     subscription is run out. The _Mutiny_ and _Edwardes_ to hand.
+
+
+                                               SARANAC, March, 1888.
+
+     MY DEAR COLVIN,—Fanny has been very unwell. She is not long
+     home, has been ill again since her return, but is now better
+     again to a degree. You must not blame her for not writing, as
+     she is not allowed to write at all, not even a letter. To add
+     to our misfortunes, Valentine is quite ill and in bed. Lloyd
+     and I get breakfast; I have now, 10.15, just got the dishes
+     washed and the kitchen all clear, and sit down to give you
+     as much news as I have spirit for, after such an engagement.
+     Glass is a thing that really breaks my spirit: I do not like
+     to fail, and with glass I cannot reach the work of my high
+     calling—the artist's.
+
+     I am, as you may gather from this, wonderfully better: this
+     harsh, grey, glum, doleful climate has done me good. You
+     cannot fancy how sad a climate it is. When the thermometer
+     stays all day below 10°, it is really cold; and when the wind
+     blows, O commend me to the result. Pleasure in life is all
+     delete; there is no red spot left, fires do not radiate, you
+     burn your hands all the time on what seem to be cold stones.
+     It is odd, zero is like summer heat to us now; and we like,
+     when the thermometer outside is really low, a room at about
+     48°: 60° we find oppressive. Yet the natives keep their holes
+     at 90° or even 100°.
+
+     This was interrupted days ago by household labors. Since then
+     I have had and (I tremble to write it, but it does seem as
+     if I had) beaten off an influenza. The cold is exquisite.
+     Valentine still in bed. The proofs of the first part of
+     the _Master of Ballantrae_ begin to come in; soon you shall
+     have it in the pamphlet form; and I hope you will like it.
+     The second part will not be near so good; but there—we can
+     but do as it'll do with us. I have every reason to believe
+     this winter has done me real good, so far as it has gone;
+     and if I carry out my scheme for next winter, and succeeding
+     years, I should end by being a tower of strength. I want you
+     to save a good holiday for next winter; I hope we shall be
+     able to help you to some larks. Is there any Greek isle you
+     would like to explore? or any creek in Asia Minor?—Yours ever
+     affectionately,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                          SARANAC LAKE, March, 1888.
+
+     MY DEAR, DELIGHTFUL JAMES,—To quote your heading to my
+     wife, I think no man writes so elegant a letter, I am sure
+     none so kind, unless it be Colvin, and there is more of the
+     stern parent about him. I was vexed at your account of my
+     admired Meredith; I wish I could go and see him, as it is I
+     will try to write. I read with indescribable admiration your
+     _Emerson_. I begin to long for the day when these portraits
+     of yours shall be collected; do put me in. But Emerson is a
+     higher flight. Have you a _Tourgueneff_? You have told me many
+     interesting things of him, and I seem to see them written,
+     and forming a graceful and _bildend_ sketch. My novel is a
+     tragedy, four parts out of six or seven are written, and gone
+     to Burlingame. Five parts of it are sound, human tragedy; the
+     last one or two, I regret to say, are not so soundly designed;
+     I almost hesitate to write them; they are very picturesque,
+     but they are fantastic; they shame, perhaps degrade, the
+     beginning. I wish I knew; that was how the tale came to me
+     however. I got the situation; it was an old taste of mine:
+     The older brother goes out in the '45, the younger stays;
+     the younger, of course, gets title and estate and marries
+     the bride designate of the elder—a family match, but he (the
+     younger) had always loved her, and she had really loved the
+     elder. Do you see the situation? Then the devil and Saranac
+     suggested this _dénouement_, and I joined the two ends in
+     a day or two of constant feverish thought, and began to
+     write. And now—I wonder if I have not gone too far with the
+     fantastic. The elder brother is an _Incubus_; supposed to be
+     killed at Culloden, he turns up again and bleeds the family of
+     money; on that stopping he comes and lives with them, whence
+     flows the real tragedy, the nocturnal duel of the brothers
+     (very naturally, and indeed, I think, inevitably arising),
+     and second supposed death of the elder. Husband and wife now
+     really make up, and then the cloven hoof appears. For the
+     third supposed death and the manner of the third reappearance
+     is steep; steep, sir. It is even very steep, and I fear
+     it shames the honest stuff so far; but then it is highly
+     pictorial, and it leads up to death of the elder brother at
+     the hands of the younger in a perfectly cold-blooded murder,
+     of which I wish (and mean) the reader to approve. You see how
+     daring is the design. There are really but six characters,
+     and one of these episodic, and yet it covers eighteen years,
+     and will be, I imagine, the longest of my works.—Yours ever,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+     _Read Gosse's Raleigh._
+
+     First rate,—Yours ever,
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+     _To S. R. Crockett_
+
+                                       [SARANAC LAKE, Spring, 1888.]
+
+     DEAR MINISTER OF THE FREE KIRK AT PENICUIK,—For O, man, I
+     cannae read your name!—That I have been so long in answering
+     your delightful letter sits on my conscience badly. The fact
+     is I let my correspondence accumulate until I am going to
+     leave a place; and then I pitch in, overhaul the pile, and my
+     cries of penitence might be heard a mile about. Yesterday I
+     despatched thirty-five belated letters; conceive the state of
+     my conscience, above all the Sins of Omission (see boyhood's
+     guide, the Shorter Catechism) are in my view the only serious
+     ones; I call it my view, but it cannot have escaped you that
+     it was also Christ's. However, all that is not to the purpose,
+     which is to thank you for the sincere pleasure afforded by
+     your charming letter. I get a good few such; how few that
+     please me at all, you would be surprised to learn—or have a
+     singularly just idea of the dulness of our race; how few that
+     please me as yours did, I can tell you in one word—_None_.
+     I am no great kirkgoer, for many reasons—and the sermon's
+     one of them, and the first prayer another, but the chief and
+     effectual reason is the stuffiness. I am no great kirkgoer,
+     says I, but when I read yon letter of yours, I thought I would
+     like to sit under ye. And then I saw ye were to send me a bit
+     buik, and says I, I'll wait for the bit buik, and then I'll
+     mebbe can read the man's name, and anyway I'll can kill twa
+     birds wi' ae stane. And, man! the buik was ne'er heard tell
+     o'!
+
+     That fact is an adminicle of excuse for my delay.
+
+     And now, dear minister of the illegible name, thanks to you,
+     and greeting to your wife, and may you have good guidance in
+     your difficult labors, and a blessing on your life.
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+     (No just so young sae young's he was, though—I'm
+        awfae near forty, man).
+
+     Address c/o CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS,
+             743 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.
+
+     Don't put "N.B." in your paper, put _Scotland_, and be done
+     with it. Alas, that I should be thus stabbed in the home of
+     my friends! The name of my native land is not _North Britain_,
+     whatever may be the name of yours.
+
+                                                            R. L. S.
+
+
+                                        [SARANAC], April 9th!! 1888.
+
+     MY DEAR COLVIN,—I have been long without writing to you, but
+     am not to blame. I had some little annoyances quite for a
+     private eye, but they ran me so hard that I could not write
+     without lugging them in, which (for several reasons) I did not
+     choose to do. Fanny is off to San Francisco, and next week I
+     myself flit to New York: address Scribners. Where we shall go
+     I know not, nor (I was going to say) care; so bald and bad
+     is my frame of mind. Do you know our—ahem!—fellow clubman,
+     Colonel Majendie? I had such an interesting letter from him.
+     Did you see my sermon? [_Pulvis et Umbra_] It has evoked the
+     worst feeling: I fear people don't care for the truth, or
+     else I don't tell it. Suffer me to wander without purpose.
+     I have sent off twenty letters to-day, and begun and stuck
+     over a twenty-first, and taken a copy of one which was on
+     business, and corrected several galleys of proof, and sorted
+     about a bushel of old letters; so if any one has a right to be
+     romantically stupid it is I—and I am. Really deeply stupid,
+     and at that stage when in old days I used to pour out words
+     without any meaning whatever and with my mind taking no part
+     in the performance. I suspect that is now the case. I am
+     reading with extraordinary pleasure the life of Lord Lawrence:
+     Lloyd and I have a mutiny novel—
+
+     (Next morning, after twelve other letters)—mutiny novel
+     on hand—_The White Nigger_—a tremendous work—so we are
+     all at Indian books. The idea of the novel is Lloyd's: I
+     call it a novel. 'Tis a tragic romance, of the most tragic
+     sort: I believe the end will be almost too much for human
+     endurance—when the White Nigger was thrown to the ground with
+     one of his own (Sepoy) soldier's knees upon his chest, and
+     the cries begin in the Beebeeghar. Oh, truly, you know it is
+     a howler! The whole last part is—well the difficulty is that,
+     short of resuscitating Shakespeare, I don't know who is to
+     write it.
+
+     I still keep wonderful. I am a great performer before the Lord
+     on a penny whistle. Dear sir, sincerely yours,
+
+                                                     ANDREW JACKSON.
+
+
+                                        [SARANAC LAKE, April, 1888.]
+
+     MY DEAR GAMEKEEPER,—Your p. c. (proving you a good student of
+     Micawber) has just arrived, and it paves the way to something
+     I am anxious to say. I wrote a paper the other day—Pulvis et
+     Umbra;—I wrote it with great feeling and conviction; to me
+     it seemed bracing and healthful; it is in such a world (so
+     seen by me), that I am very glad to fight out my battle, and
+     see some fine sunsets, and hear some excellent jests between
+     whiles round the camp fire. But I find that to some people
+     this vision of mine is a nightmare, and extinguishes all
+     ground of faith in God or pleasure in man. Truth I think not
+     so much of; for I do not know it. And I could wish in my heart
+     that I had not published this paper, if it troubles folks too
+     much: all have not the same digestion, nor the same sight of
+     things. And it came over to me with special pain that perhaps
+     this article (which I was at the pains to send to her) might
+     give dismalness to my _Gamekeeper at Home_. Well, I cannot
+     take back what I have said; but yet I may add this. If my
+     view be everything but the nonsense that it may be—to me it
+     seems self-evident and blinding truth—surely of all things
+     it makes this world holier. There is nothing in it but the
+     moral side—but the great battle and the breathing-times with
+     their refreshments. I see no more and no less. And if you look
+     again, it is not ugly, and it is filled with promise.
+
+     Pray excuse a desponding author for this apology. My wife is
+     away off to the uttermost parts of the States, all by herself.
+     I shall be off, I hope, in a week; but where? Ah! that I know
+     not. I keep wonderful, and my wife a little better, and the
+     lad flourishing. We now perform duets on two D tin whistles;
+     it is no joke to make the bass; I think I must really send
+     you one, which I wish you would correct....
+
+     I may be said to live for these instrumental labours now;
+     but I have always some childishness on hand.—I am, dear
+     Gamekeeper, your indulgent, but intemperate Squire,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+
+[On the 16th of April Stevenson and his party left Saranac. After
+spending a fortnight in New York, where, as always in cities, his
+health quickly flagged again, he went for the month of May into seaside
+quarters at Union House, Manasquan, on the New Jersey coast, for the
+sake of fresh air and boating. Here he enjoyed the society of some
+of his New York friends, including Mr. St. Gaudens and Mr. W. H. Low,
+and was initiated in the congenial craft of cat-boat sailing. In the
+meantime Mrs. Stevenson had gone to San Francisco, to see whether a
+sailing yacht was to be found available for a few months' cruise in the
+Pacific. The _Casco_, Captain Otis, was found accordingly; Stevenson
+signified by telegraph his assent to the arrangement; determined to risk
+in the adventure the sum of £2,000, of which his father's death had
+put him in possession, hoping to recoup himself by a book of Letters
+recounting his experiences; and on the 2d of June started with his
+mother and stepson for San Francisco, and thence for that island cruise
+from which he was never to return.]
+
+                          UNION HOUSE, MANASQUAN, N. J., but address
+                                                      to Scribner's.
+
+                                                       May 11, 1888.
+
+     MY DEAR CHARLES,—I have found a yacht, and we are going the
+     full pitch for seven months. If I cannot get my health back
+     (more or less), 'tis madness; but, of course, there is the
+     hope, and I will play big.... If this business fails to set
+     me up, well, £2,000 is gone, and I know I can't get better.
+     We sail from San Francisco, June 15th, for the South Seas in
+     the yacht _Casco_.—With a million thanks for all your dear
+     friendliness, ever yours affectionately,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+[The following is addressed from Manasquan to a boy, the son of the
+writer's friend, the sculptor St. Gaudens; for the rest, it explains
+itself.]
+
+
+                                              MANASQUAN, NEW JERSEY,
+                                                     27th May, 1888.
+
+     DEAR HOMER ST. GAUDENS,—Your father has brought you this day
+     to see me, and he tells me it is his hope he may remember
+     the occasion. I am going to do what I can to carry out his
+     wish; and it may amuse you, years after, to see this little
+     scrap of paper and to read what I write. I must begin by
+     testifying that you yourself took no interest whatever in
+     the introduction, and in the most proper spirit displayed
+     a single-minded ambition to get back to play, and this I
+     thought an excellent and admirable point in your character.
+     You were also (I use the past tense, with a view to the time
+     when you shall read, rather than to that when I am writing)
+     a very pretty boy, and (to my European views) startlingly
+     self-possessed. My time of observation was so limited that
+     you must pardon me if I can say no more: what else I marked,
+     what restlessness of foot and hand, what graceful clumsiness,
+     what experimental designs upon the furniture, was but the
+     common inheritance of human youth. But you may perhaps like
+     to know that the lean flushed man in bed, who interested
+     you so little, was in a state of mind extremely mingled and
+     unpleasant: harassed with work which he thought he was not
+     doing well, troubled with difficulties to which you will in
+     time succeed, and yet looking forward to no less a matter than
+     a voyage to the South Seas and the visitation of savage and
+     of desert islands.—Your father's friend,
+
+                                             ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
+
+
+
+
+THE VEERY-THRUSH
+
+By J. Russell Taylor
+
+
+     Blow softly, thrush, upon the hush
+     That makes the least leaf loud,
+     Blow, wild of heart, remote, apart
+     From all the vocal crowd,
+     Apart, remote, a spirit note
+     That dances meltingly afloat,
+     Blow faintly, thrush!
+     And build the green-hill waterfall
+     I hated for its beauty, and all
+     The unloved vernal rapture and flush,
+     The old forgotten lonely time,
+     Delicate thrush!
+     Spring's at the prime, the world's in chime,
+     And my love is listening nearly,
+     O lightly blow the ancient woe,
+     Flute of the wood, blow clearly!
+     Blow, she is here, and the world all dear,
+     Melting flute of the hush,
+     Old sorrow estranged, enriched, sea-changed,
+     Breathe it, veery-thrush!
+
+
+
+
+THE SHIP OF STARS
+
+By A. T. Quiller-Couch
+
+(Q.)
+
+
+XXI
+
+HONORIA'S LETTERS
+
+1
+
+                                        CARWITHIEL, October 25, 18—.
+
+     MY DEAR TAFFY:
+
+     Your letter was full of news, and I read it over twice—once
+     to myself, and again after dinner to George and Sir Harry.
+     We pictured you dining in the college hall. Thanks to your
+     description, it was not very difficult: the long tables, the
+     silver tankards, the dark panels and the dark pictures above,
+     and the dons on the dais, aloof and very sedate. It reminded
+     me of Ivanhoe—I don't know why; and no doubt if ever I see
+     Magdalen, it will not be like my fancy in the least. But
+     that's how I see it; and you at a table near the bottom of the
+     hall, like the youthful squire in the story-books—the one,
+     you know, who sits at the feast below the salt until he is
+     recognized and forced to step up and take his seat with honor
+     at the high table. I began to explain all this to George, but
+     found that he had dropped asleep in his chair. He was tired
+     out after a long day with the pheasants.
+
+     I shall stay here for a week or two yet, perhaps. You know how
+     I hate Tredinnis. On my way over, I called at the Parsonage
+     and saw your mother. She was writing that very day, she said,
+     and promised to send my remembrances, which I hope duly
+     reached you. The Vicar was away at the church, of course.
+     There is great talk of the Bishop coming in February, when
+     all will be ready. George sends his love; I saw him for a
+     few minutes at breakfast this morning, before he started for
+     another day with the pheasants.
+
+                                                  Your friend,
+                                                            HONORIA.
+
+
+2
+
+                                       CARWITHIEL, November 19, 18—.
+
+     MY DEAR TAFFY:
+
+     Still here, you see! I am slipping this into a parcel
+     containing a fire-screen which I have worked with my very
+     own hands; and I trust you will be able to recognize the
+     shield upon it and the Magdalen lilies. I send it, first,
+     as a birthday present; and I chose a shield—well, I daresay
+     that going in for a demy-ship is a matter-of-fact affair to
+     you, who have grown so exceedingly matter-of-fact; but to me
+     it seems a tremendous adventure; and so I chose a shield—for
+     I suppose the dons would frown if you wore a cockade in your
+     college cap. I return to Tredinnis to-morrow; so your news,
+     whatever it is, must be addressed to me there. But it is safe
+     to be good news.
+
+                                                  Your friend,
+                                                            HONORIA.
+
+
+3
+
+                                        TREDINNIS, November 27, 18—.
+
+     MOST HONORED SCHOLAR:
+
+     Behold me, an hour ago, a great lady, seated in lonely
+     grandeur at the head of my own ancestral table. This is the
+     first time I have used the dining-room; usually I take all my
+     meals in the morning-room, at a small table beside the fire.
+     But to-night I had the great table spread, and the plate set
+     out, and wore my best gown, and solemnly took my grandfather's
+     chair and glowered at the ghost of a small girl shivering
+     at the far end of the long white cloth. When I had enough of
+     this (which was pretty soon) I ordered up some champagne and
+     drank the health of Theophilus John Raymond, Demy of Magdalen
+     College, Oxford. I graciously poured out a second glass for
+     the small ghost at the other end of the table; and it gave
+     her the courage to confess that she, too, in a timid way, had
+     taken an interest in you for years, and hoped you were going
+     to be a great man. Having thus discovered a bond between us,
+     we grew very friendly; and we talked a great deal about you
+     afterward, in the drawing-room, where I lost her for a few
+     minutes and found her hiding in the great mirror over the
+     fire-place—a habit of hers.
+
+     It is time for me to practise ceremony, for it seems that
+     George and I are to be married some time in the spring. For my
+     part, I think my lord would be content to wait longer; for so
+     long as he is happy and sees others cheerful, he is not one
+     to hurry or worry. But Sir Harry is the impatient one, and
+     has begun to talk of his decease. He doesn't believe in it a
+     bit, and at times when he composes his features and attempts
+     to be lugubrious I have to take up a book and hide my smiles.
+     But he is clever enough to see that it bothers George.
+
+     I saw both your father and mother this morning. Mr. Raymond
+     has been kept to the house by a chill; nothing serious; but
+     he is fretting to be out again and at work in that draughty
+     church. He will accept no help; and the mistress of Tredinnis
+     has no right to press it on him. I shall never understand
+     men and how they fight. I supposed that the war lay between
+     him and my grandfather. But it seems he was fighting an idea
+     all the while; for here is my grandfather beaten and dead and
+     gone; and still the Vicar will give no quarter. If you had
+     not assured me that your demy-ship means eighty pounds a year,
+     I could believe that men fight for shadows only. Your mother
+     and grandmother are both well....
+
+
+It was a raw December afternoon—within a week of the end of term—and
+Taffy had returned from skating in Christ Church meadow, when he found
+a telegram lying on his table. There was just time to see the Dean, to
+pack, and to snatch a meal in hall, before rattling off to his train.
+At Didcot he had the best part of an hour to wait for the night-mail
+westward.
+
+"_Your father dangerously ill. Come at once._"
+
+There was no signature. Yet Taffy knew who had ridden to the office
+with that telegram. The flying darkness held visions of her, and the
+express throbbed westward to the beat of Aide-de-camp's gallop. Nor was
+he surprised at all to find her on the platform at Truro station. The
+Tredinnis phaeton was waiting outside.
+
+He seemed to her but a boy after all, as he stepped out of the train in
+the chill dawn; a wan-faced boy and sorely in need of comfort.
+
+"You must be brave," said she, gathering up the reins as he climbed to
+the seat beside her.
+
+Surely yes; he had been telling himself this very thing all night. The
+groom hoisted in his portmanteau, and with a slam of the door they were
+off. The cold air sang past Taffy's ears. It put vigor into him, and his
+courage rose as he faced his shattered prospects, shattered dreams. He
+must be strong now, for his mother's sake; a man to work and be leant
+upon.
+
+And so it was that whereas Honoria had found him a boy, Humility found
+him a man. As her arms went about him in her grief, she felt his body,
+that it was taller, broader; and knew, in the midst of her tears, that
+this was not the child she had parted from seven short weeks ago, but
+a man to act and give orders and be relied upon.
+
+"He called for you ... many times," was all she could say.
+
+For Taffy had come too late. Mr. Raymond was dead. He had aggravated a
+slight chill by going back to his work too soon, and the bitter draughts
+of the church had cut him down within sight of his goal. A year before,
+he might have been less impatient. The chill struck into his lungs. On
+December 1st he had taken to his bed, and he never rallied.
+
+"He called for me?"
+
+"Many times."
+
+They went up the stairs together and stood beside the bed. The thought
+uppermost in Taffy's mind was—"He called for me. He wanted me. He was
+my father, and I never knew him."
+
+But Humility in her sorrow groped amid such questions as these: "What
+has happened? Who am I? Am I she who yesterday had a husband, and a
+child? To-day my husband is gone, and my child is no longer the same
+child."
+
+In her room old Mrs. Venning remembered the first days of her own
+widowhood; and life seemed to her a very short affair, after all.
+
+Honoria saw Taffy beside the grave. It was no season for out-of-door
+flowers and she had rifled her hot-houses for a wreath. The exotics
+shivered in the northwesterly wind; they looked meaningless,
+impertinent, in the gusty churchyard. Humility, before the coffin left
+the house, had brought the dead man's old blue working-blouse and spread
+it for a pall. No flowers grew in the parsonage garden; but pressed in
+her Bible lay a very little bunch gathered, years ago, in the meadows
+by Honiton. This she divided and, unseen by anyone, pinned the half upon
+the breast of the patched garment.
+
+On the evening after the funeral and for the next day or two she was
+strangely quiet, and seemed to be waiting for Taffy to make some sign.
+Dearly as mother and son loved one another, they had to find their new
+positions, each toward each. Now Taffy had known nothing of his parents'
+income. He assumed that it was little enough, and that he must now leave
+Oxford and work to support the household. He knew some Latin and Greek;
+but without a degree he had little chance of teaching what he knew. He
+was a fair carpenter, and a more than passable smith.... He revolved
+many schemes, but chiefly found himself wondering what it would cost to
+enter an architect's office.
+
+"I suppose," said he, "father left no will?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he did," said Humility, and produced it—a single sheet of
+foolscap signed on her wedding-day. It gave her all her husband's
+property absolutely—whatever it might be.
+
+"Well," said Taffy, "I'm glad. I suppose there's enough for you to rent
+a small cottage, while I look about for work?"
+
+"Who talks about your finding work? You will go back to Oxford, of
+course."
+
+"Oh, shall I?" said Taffy, taken aback.
+
+"Certainly; it was your father's wish."
+
+"But the money?"
+
+"With your scholarship there's enough to keep you there for the four
+years. After that, no doubt, you will be earning a good income."
+
+"But—" He remembered what had been said about the lace-money, and could
+not help wondering.
+
+"Taffy," said his mother, touching his hand, "leave all this to me
+until your degree is taken. You have a race to run and must not start
+unprepared. If you could have seen _his_ joy when the news came of the
+demy-ship!"
+
+Taffy kissed her and went up to his room. He found his books laid out
+on the little table there.
+
+
+4
+
+                                        TREDINNIS, February 13, 18—.
+
+     MY DEAR TAFFY:
+
+     I have a valentine for you, if you care to accept it; but I
+     don't suppose you will, and indeed I hope in my heart that you
+     will not. But I must offer it. Your father's living is vacant,
+     and my trustees (that is to say, Sir Harry; for the other, a
+     second cousin of mine, who lives in London, never interferes)
+     can put in someone as a stop-gap, thus allowing me to present
+     you to it, when the time comes, if you have any thought of
+     Holy Orders. You will understand exactly why I offer it; and
+     also, I hope, you will know that I think it wholly unworthy
+     of you. But turn it over in your mind and give me your answer.
+
+     George and I are to be married at the end of April. May is an
+     unlucky month. It shall be a week—even a fortnight—earlier,
+     if that fits in with your vacation, and you care to come. See
+     how obliging I am! I yield to you what I have refused to Sir
+     Harry. We shall try to persuade the Bishop to come and open
+     the church on the same day.
+
+                                           Always your friend,
+                                                            HONORIA.
+
+
+5
+
+                                           TREDINNIS, February 21st.
+
+     MY DEAR TAFFY:
+
+     No, I am not offended in the least; but very glad. I do not
+     think you are fitted for the priesthood; but my doubts have
+     nothing to do with your doubts, which I don't understand,
+     though you tried to explain them so carefully. You will come
+     through _them_, I expect. I don't know that I have any reasons
+     that could be put on paper; only, somehow, I cannot _see_ you
+     in a black coat and clerical hat.
+
+     You complain that I never write about George. You don't
+     deserve to hear, since you refuse to come to our wedding. But
+     would _you_ talk, if you happened to be in love? There, I have
+     told you more than ever I've told George, whose quiet conceit
+     has to be kept down. Let this console you.
+
+     Our new Parson, when he comes, is to lodge down in Innis
+     Village. Your mother—but no doubt she has told you—stays in
+     the Parsonage while she pleases. She and your grandmother are
+     both well. I see her every day. I have so much to learn and
+     she is so wise. Her beautiful eyes—but oh, Taffy, it must be
+     terrible to be a widow! She smiles and is always cheerful;
+     but the _look_ in them! How can I describe it? When I find
+     her alone, with her lace-work, or sometimes (but it is not
+     often) with her hands in her lap, she seems to come out of
+     her silence with an effort, as others withdraw themselves
+     from talk. I wonder if she does talk, in those silences of
+     hers. Another thing—it is only a few weeks now since she put
+     on a widow's cap, and yet I cannot remember her—can scarcely
+     picture her—without it. I am sure that if I happened to call
+     one day when she had laid it aside, I should begin to talk
+     quite as if we were strangers.
+
+                                  Believe me, yours sincerely,
+                                                            HONORIA.
+
+
+But the wedding, after all, did not take place until the beginning of
+October, a week before the close of the Long Vacation; and Taffy, after
+all, was present. The postponement had been enforced by many delays
+in building and furnishing the new wing at Carwithiel; for Sir Harry
+insisted that the young couple must live under one roof with him, and
+Honoria (as we know) hated the very stones of Tredinnis.
+
+The Bishop came to spend a week in the neighborhood, the first three
+days as Honoria's guest. On the Saturday he consecrated the work of
+restoration in the Church and, in the afternoon, held a confirmation
+service. Taffy and Honoria knelt together to receive his blessing. It
+was the girl's wish. The shadow of her responsibility to God and man
+lay heavy on her during the few months before her marriage, and Taffy,
+already weary and dispirited with his early doubtings, suffered her mood
+of exaltation to overcome him like a wave and sweep him back to rest for
+a while on the still waters of faith. Together they listened while the
+Bishop discoursed on the dead Vicar's labors with fluency and feeling;
+with so much feeling, indeed, that Taffy could not help wondering why
+his father had been left to fight the battle alone.
+
+On the Sunday and Monday two near parishes claimed the Bishop. On the
+Tuesday he sent his luggage over to Carwithiel, whither he was to follow
+after the wedding service, to spend a day or two with Sir Harry. It had
+been Honoria's wish that George should choose Taffy for his best man;
+but George had already invited one of his sporting friends, a young
+Squire Philpotts from the eastern side of the Duchy; and as the date
+fell at the beginning of the hunting season, he insisted on a "pink"
+wedding. Honoria consulted the Bishop by letter. "Did he approve of a
+'pink' wedding so soon after the bride's confirmation?" The Bishop saw
+no harm in it.
+
+So a "pink" wedding it was, and the scarlet coats made a lively patch
+of color in the gray churchyard; but it gave Taffy a feeling that he was
+left out in the cold. He escorted his mother to the church, and left her
+for a few minutes in the Vicarage pew. The bridegroom and his friends
+were gathered in a showy cluster by the chancel step, but the bride
+had not arrived, and he stepped out to help in marshalling the crowd
+of miners and mine-girls, fishermen, and mothers with unruly children—a
+hundred or so in all, lining the path or straggling among the graves.
+
+Close by the gate he came on a girl who stood alone.
+
+"Hullo, Lizzie—you here?"
+
+"Why not?" she asked, looking at him sullenly.
+
+"Oh, no reason at all."
+
+"There might ha' been a reason," said she, speaking low and hurriedly.
+"You might ha' saved me from this, Mr. Raymond; and her too; one time,
+you might."
+
+"Why, what on earth is the matter?" He looked up. The Tredinnis carriage
+and pair of grays came over the knoll at a smart trot and drew up before
+the gate.
+
+"Matter?" Lizzie echoed with a short laugh. "Oh, nuthin'. I'm goin' to
+lay the curse on her, that's all."
+
+"You shall not!" There was no time to lose. Honoria's trustee—the second
+cousin from London—a tall, clean-shaven man with a shiny, bald head,
+and a shiny hat in his hand—had stepped out and was helping the bride
+to alight. What Lizzie meant Taffy could not tell; but there must be no
+scene. He caught her hand. "Mind—I say you shall not!" he whispered.
+
+"Lemme go—you're creamin' my fingers."
+
+"Be quiet, then."
+
+At that moment Honoria passed up the path. Her wedding gown almost
+brushed him as he stood wringing Lizzie's hand. She did not appear to
+see him; but he saw her face beneath the bridal veil, and it was hard
+and white.
+
+"The proud toad!" said Lizzie. "I'm no better'n dirt, I suppose,
+though from the start she wasn' above robbin' me. Aw, she's sly.... Mr.
+Raymond, I'll curse her as she comes out, see if I don't!"
+
+"And I swear you shall not," said Taffy. The scent of Honoria's
+orange-blossom seemed to cling about them as they stood.
+
+Lizzie looked at him vindictively. "You wanted her yourself, _I_ know.
+You weren't good enough, neither. Let go my fingers!"
+
+"Go home, now. See, the people have all gone in."
+
+"Go'st way in, too, then, and leave me here to wait for her."
+
+Taffy shut his teeth, let go her hand, and taking her by the shoulders
+swung her round, face toward the gate.
+
+"March!" he commanded, and she moved off whimpering. Once she looked
+back. "March!" he repeated, and followed her down the road as one
+follows and threatens a mutinous dog.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The scene by the church gate had puzzled Honoria, and in her first
+letter (written from Italy) she came straight to the point, as her
+custom was. "I hope there is nothing between you and that girl who
+used to be at Joll's. I say nothing about our hopes for you, but you
+have your own career to look to; and as I know you are too honorable to
+flatter an ignorant girl when you mean nothing, so I trust you are too
+wise to be caught by a foolish fancy. Forgive a staid matron (of one
+week's standing) for writing so plainly; but what I saw made me uneasy;
+without cause, no doubt. Your future, remember, is not yours only. And
+now I shall trust you, and never come back to this subject.
+
+"We are like children abroad," she went on. "George's French is
+wonderful, but not so wonderful as his Italian. When he goes to take
+a ticket, he first of all shouts the name of the station he wishes to
+arrive at (for some reason he believes all foreigners to be deaf); then
+he begins counting down francs one by one, very slowly, watching the
+clerk's face. When the clerk's face tells him he has doled out enough,
+he shouts 'Hold hard!' and clutches the ticket. It takes time; but all
+the people here are friends with him at once—especially the children,
+whom he punches in the ribs and tells to 'buck up.' Their mothers
+nod and smile and openly admire him; and I—well, I am happy, and want
+everyone else to be happy!"
+
+
+XXII
+
+MEN AS TOWERS
+
+It was May morning, and Taffy made one of the group gathered on the
+roof of Magdalen Tower. In the groves below and across the river-meadows
+all the birds were singing together. Beyond the glimmering suburbs, St.
+Clement's and Cowley St. John, over the dark rise by Bullingdon Green,
+the waning moon seemed to stand still and wait poised on her nether
+horn. Below her the morning sky waited, clean and virginal, letting her
+veil of mist slip lower and lower until it rested in folds upon the high
+woodlands and pastures. While it dropped, a shaft of light tore through
+it and smote flashing on the vane high above Taffy's head, turning the
+dark side of the turrets to purple and casting lilac shadows on the
+surplices of the choir. For a moment the whole dewy shadow of the tower
+trembled on the western sky, and melted and was gone as a flood of gold
+broke on the eastward-turned faces. The clock below struck five, and
+ceased. There was a sudden baring of heads; a hush; and gently, borne
+aloft on boys' voices, clear and strong, rose the first notes of the
+hymn—
+
+     Te Deum Patrem colimus,
+     Te laudibus prosequimur,
+     Qui corpus cibo reficis,
+     Coelesti mentem gratia.
+
+In the pauses Taffy heard, faint and far below, the noise of cowhorns
+blown by the street boys gathered at the foot of the tower and beyond
+the bridge. Close beside him a small urchin of a chorister was singing
+away with the face of an ecstatic seraph; whence that ecstasy arose the
+urchin would have been puzzled to tell. There flashed into Taffy's brain
+the vision of the whole earth lauding and adoring—sun-worshippers and
+Christians, priests and small children; nation after nation prostrating
+itself and arising to join the chant—"the differing world's agreeing
+sacrifice." Yes; it was Praise that made men brothers; praise, the
+creature's first and last act of homage to his Creator; praise that made
+him kin with the angels. Praise had lifted this tower; had expressed
+itself in its soaring pinnacles; and he for the moment was incorporate
+with the tower and part of its builder's purpose. "Lord, make men as
+towers!"—he remembered his father's prayer in the field by Tewkesbury;
+and at last he understood. "All towers carry a lamp of some kind"—why,
+of course they did. He looked about him. The small chorister's face was
+glowing—
+
+     _Triune Deus, hominum
+     Salutis auctor optime,
+     Immensum hoc mysterium
+     Ovante lingua canimus!_
+
+Silence—and then with a shout the tunable bells broke forth, rocking
+the tower. Someone seized Taffy's college-cap and sent it spinning
+over the battlements. Caps? For a second or two they darkened the sky
+like a flock of birds. A few gowns followed, expanding as they dropped,
+like clumsy parachutes. The company—all but a few severe dons and their
+friends—tumbled laughing down the ladder, down the winding stair, and
+out into sunshine. The world was pagan after all.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At breakfast Taffy found a letter on his table, addressed in his
+mother's hand. As a rule she wrote twice a week, and this was not one of
+the usual days for hearing from her. But nothing was too good to happen
+that morning. He snatched up the letter and broke the seal.
+
+"My dearest boy," it ran, "I want you home at once to consult with me.
+Something has happened (forgive me, dear, for not preparing you; but
+the blow fell on me yesterday so suddenly)—something which makes it
+doubtful, and more than doubtful, that you can continue at Oxford. And
+something else _they say_ has happened which I will never believe in
+unless I hear it from my boy's lips. I have this comfort, at any rate,
+that he will never tell me a falsehood. This is a matter which cannot
+be explained by letter, and cannot wait until the end of term. Come home
+quickly, dear; for until you are here I can have no peace of mind."
+
+So once again Taffy travelled homeward by the night mail.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mother, it's a lie!"
+
+Taffy's face was hot, but he looked straight into his mother's eyes.
+She, too, was rosy-red, being ever a shamefast woman. And to speak of
+these things to her own boy—
+
+"Thank God!" she murmured, and her fingers gripped the arms of her chair.
+
+"It's a lie! Where is the girl?"
+
+"She is in the workhouse. I don't know who spread it, or how many have
+heard. But Honoria believes it."
+
+"Honoria! She cannot—" He came to a sudden halt. "But, mother, even
+supposing Honoria believes it, I don't see—"
+
+He was looking straight at her. Her eyes sank. Light began to break in
+on him.
+
+"Mother!"
+
+Humility did not look up.
+
+"Mother! Don't tell me that she—that Honoria—"
+
+"She made us promise—your father and me.... God knows it did no more
+than repay what your father had suffered.... Your future was everything
+to us...."
+
+"And I have been maintained at Oxford by her money," he said, pausing
+in his bitterness on every word.
+
+"Not by that only, Taffy! There was your scholarship ... and it was true
+about my savings on the lace-work...."
+
+But he brushed her feeble explanations away with a little gesture of
+impatience. "Oh, why, mother? Oh, why?"
+
+She heard him groan and stretched out her arms.
+
+"Taffy, forgive me—forgive us! We did wrongly, I see—I see it as plain
+now as you. But we did it for your sake."
+
+"You should have told me. I was not a child. Yes, yes, you should have
+told me."
+
+Yes; there lay the truth. They had treated him as a child when he was
+no longer a child. They had swathed him round with love, forgetting
+that boys grow and demand to see with their own eyes and walk on their
+own feet. To every mother of sons there comes sooner or later the sharp
+lesson which came to Humility that morning; and few can find any defence
+but that which Humility stammered, sitting in her chair and gazing
+piteously up at the tall youth confronting her: "I did it for your
+sake." Be pitiful, O accusing sons, in that hour! For, terrible as your
+case may be against them, your mothers are speaking the simple truth.
+
+Taffy took her hand "The money must be paid back, every penny of it."
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"How much?"
+
+Humility kept a small account-book in the work-box beside her. She
+opened the pages, but, seeing his outstretched hand, gave it obediently
+to Taffy, who took it to the window.
+
+"Almost two hundred pounds." He knit his brows and began to drum with
+his fingers on the window-pane. "And we must put the interest at five
+per cent.... With my first in moderations I might find some post as an
+usher in a small school.... There's an agency which puts you in the way
+of such things; I must look up the address.... We will leave this house,
+of course."
+
+"Must we?"
+
+"Why, of course, we must. We are living here by _her_ favor. A cottage
+will do—only it must have four rooms, because of grandmother.... I will
+step over and talk with Mendarva. He may be able to give me a job. It
+will keep me going, at any rate, until I hear from the agency."
+
+"You forget that I have over forty pounds a year—or, rather, mother has.
+The capital came from the sale of her farm, years ago."
+
+"Did it?" said Taffy, grimly. "You forget that I have never been told.
+Well, that's good, so far as it goes. But now I'll step over and see
+Mendarva. If only I could catch this cowardly lie somewhere, on my way!"
+
+He kissed his mother, caught up his cap, and flung out of the house.
+The sea-breeze came humming across the sandhills. He opened his lungs
+to it, and it was wine to his blood; he felt fit and strong enough to
+slay dragons. "But who could the liar be? Not Lizzie herself, surely?
+Not—"
+
+He pulled up short, in a hollow of the towans.
+
+"Not—George?"
+
+Treachery is a hideous thing, and to youth so incomprehensibly hideous
+that it darkens the sun. Yet every trusting man must be betrayed. That
+was one of the lessons of Christ's life on earth. It is the last and
+severest test; it kills many, morally, and no man who has once met and
+looked it in the face departs the same man, though he may be a stronger
+one.
+
+"Not _George_?"
+
+Taffy stood there so still that the rabbits crept out and, catching
+sight of him, paused in the mouths of their burrows. When at length he
+moved on, it was to take, not the path which wound inland to Mendarva's,
+but the one which led straight over the higher moors to Carwithiel.
+
+It was between one and two o'clock when he reached the house and asked
+to see Mr. or Mrs. George Vyell. They were not at home, the footman
+said; had left for Falmouth, the evening before, to join some friends
+on a yachting cruise. Sir Harry was at home; was, indeed, lunching at
+that moment; but would no doubt be pleased to see Mr. Raymond.
+
+Sir Harry had finished his lunch and sat sipping his claret and tossing
+scraps of biscuit to the dogs.
+
+"Hullo, Raymond!—thought you were in Oxford. Sit down, my boy; delighted
+to see you. Thomas, a knife and fork for Mr. Raymond. The cutlets are
+cold, I'm afraid, but I can recommend the cold saddle, and the ham—it's
+a York ham. Go to the sideboard and forage for yourself. I wanted
+company. My boy and Honoria are at Falmouth, yachting, and have left me
+alone. What, you won't eat? A glass of claret then, at any rate."
+
+"To tell the truth, Sir Harry," Taffy began, awkwardly, "I've come on
+a disagreeable business."
+
+Sir Harry's face fell. He hated disagreeable business. He flipped a
+piece of biscuit at his spaniel's nose and sat back, crossing his legs.
+
+"Won't it keep?"
+
+"To me it's important."
+
+"Oh, fire away then; only help yourself to the claret first."
+
+"A girl—Lizzie Pezzack, living over at Langona—has had a child born—"
+
+"Stop a moment. Do I know her?—Ah, to be sure—daughter of old Pezzack,
+the light-keeper—a brown-colored girl with her hair over her eyes. Well,
+I'm not surprised. Wants money, I suppose? Who's the father?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Well, but—damn it all!—somebody knows." Sir Harry reached for the
+bottle and refilled his glass.
+
+"The one thing I know is that Honoria—Mrs. George, I mean—has heard
+about it, and suspects me."
+
+Sir Harry lifted his glass and glanced at him over the rim. "That's the
+devil. Does she, now?" He sipped. "She hasn't been herself for a day or
+two—this explains it. I thought it was change of air she wanted. She's
+in the deuce of a rage, you bet."
+
+"She is," said Taffy, grimly.
+
+"There's no prude like your young married woman. But it'll blow over,
+my boy. My advice to you is to keep out of the way for a while."
+
+"But—but it's a lie!" broke in the indignant Taffy. "As far as I am
+concerned there's not a grain of truth in it!"
+
+"Oh—I beg your pardon, I'm sure." Here Honoria's terrier (the one
+which George had bought for her at Plymouth) interrupted by begging
+for a biscuit, and Sir Harry balanced one carefully on its nose. "On
+trust—good dog! What does the girl say herself?"
+
+"I don't know. I've not seen her."
+
+"Then, my dear fellow—it's awkward, I admit—but I'm dashed if I see what
+you expect me to do." The baronet pulled out a handkerchief and began
+flicking the crumbs off his knees.
+
+Taffy watched him for a minute in silence. He was asking himself why
+he had come. Well, he had come in a hot fit of indignation, meaning to
+face Honoria and force her to take back the insult of her suspicion.
+But after all—suppose George were at the bottom of it? Clearly Sir Harry
+knew nothing, and in any case could not be asked to expose his own son.
+And Honoria? Let be that she would never believe—that he had no proof,
+no evidence even—this were a pretty way of beginning to discharge his
+debt to her! The terrier thrust a cold muzzle against his hand. The room
+was very still. Sir Harry poured out another glassful and held out the
+decanter. "Come, you must drink; I insist!"
+
+Taffy looked up. "Thank you, I will."
+
+He could now and with a clear conscience. In those quiet moments he
+had taken the great resolution. The debt should be paid back, and with
+interest; not at five per cent., but at a rate beyond the creditor's
+power of reckoning. For the interest to be guarded for her should be
+her continued belief in the man she loved. Yes, _but if George were
+innocent_? Why, then, the sacrifice would be idle; that was all.
+
+He swallowed the wine, and stood up.
+
+"Must you be going? I wanted a chat with you about Oxford," grumbled
+Sir Harry; but noting the lad's face, how white and drawn it was, he
+relented and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't take it too seriously,
+my boy. It'll blow over—it'll blow over. Honoria likes you, I know.
+We'll see what the trollop says; and if I get a chance of putting in a
+good word, you may depend on me."
+
+He walked with Taffy to the door—good, easy man—and waved a hand from
+the porch. On the whole he was rather glad than not to see his young
+friend's back.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From his smithy window Mendarva spied Taffy coming along the road, and
+stepped out on the green to shake hands with him.
+
+"Pleased to see your face, my son! You'll excuse my not askin' 'ee
+inside; but the fact is"—he jerked his thumb toward the smithy—"we've
+a-got our troubles in there."
+
+It came on our youth with something of a shock, that the world had room
+for any trouble beside his own.
+
+"'Tis the Dane. He went over to Truro yesterday to the wrastlin', an'
+got thrawed. I tell'n there's no need to be shamed. 'Twas Luke the
+Wendron fella did it—in the treble play—inside lock backward, and as
+pretty a chip as ever I see." Mendarva began to illustrate it with foot
+and ankle, but checked himself and glanced nervously over his shoulder.
+"Isn' lookin', I hope? He's in a terrible pore about it. Won't trust
+hissel' to spake and don't want to see nobody. But, as I tell'n, there's
+no need to be shamed; the fella took the belt in the las' round and
+turned his man over like a tab. He's a proper angletwitch, that Wendron
+fella. Stank 'pon en both ends, and he'll rise up in the middle and
+look at 'ee. There was no one a patch on en but the Dane; and I'll back
+the Dane next time they clinch. 'Tis a nuisance, though, to have'n like
+this—with a big job coming on, too, over to the light-house."
+
+Taffy looked steadily at the smith. "What's doing at the light-house?"
+
+"Ha'n't 'ee heerd?" Mendarva began a long tale, the sum of which was
+that the light-house had begun of late to show signs of age, to rock at
+times in an ominous manner. The Trinity House surveyor had been down,
+and reported, and Mendarva had the contract for some immediate repairs.
+"But 'tis patching an old kettle, my son. The foundations be clamped
+down to the rock, and the clamps have worked loose. The whole thing'll
+have to come down in the end; you mark my words."
+
+"But, these repairs?" Taffy interrupted. "You'll be wanting hands."
+
+"Why, o' course."
+
+"And a foreman—a clerk of the works—"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+While Mendarva was telling his tale, over a hill two miles to the
+westward a small donkey-cart crawled for a minute against the skyline
+and disappeared beyond the ridge which hid the towans. An old man
+trudged at the donkey's head; and a young woman sat in the cart with a
+bundle in her arms.
+
+The old man trudged along so deep in thought that when the donkey
+without rhyme or reason came to a halt, half-way down the hill, he, too,
+halted, and stood pulling a wisp of gray side-whiskers.
+
+"Look here," he said. "You ent goin' to tell? That's your las' word, is
+it?"
+
+The young woman looked down on the bundle and nodded her head.
+
+"There, that'll do. If you weant, you weant; I've tek'n 'ee back, an' us
+must fit and make the best o't. The cheeld'll never be fit for much—born
+lame like that. But 'twas to be, I s'pose."
+
+Lizzie sat dumb, but hugged the bundle closer.
+
+"'Tis like a judgment. If your mother'd been spared, 'twudn' have
+happened. But 'twas to be, I s'pose. The Lord's ways be past findin'
+out."
+
+He woke up and struck the donkey across the rump.
+
+"Gwan you! Gee up! What d'ee mean by stoppin' like that?"
+
+
+XXIII
+
+THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP
+
+The Chief Engineer of the Trinity House was a man of few words. He
+and Taffy had spent the afternoon clambering about the rocks below the
+light-house, peering into its foundations. Here and there, where weed
+coated the rocks and made foothold slippery, he took the hand which
+Taffy held out. Now and then he paused for a pinch of snuff. The round
+of inspection finished, he took an extraordinarily long pinch.
+
+"What's _your_ opinion?" he asked, cocking his head on one side and
+examining the young man much as he had examined the light-house. "You
+have one, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, sir; but of course it doesn't count for much."
+
+"I asked for it."
+
+"Well, then, I think, sir, we have wasted a year's work; and if we go
+on tinkering, we shall waste more."
+
+"Pull it down and rebuild, you say?"
+
+"Yes, sir; but not on the same rock."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"This rock was ill-chosen. You see, sir, just here a ridge of elvan
+crops up through the slate; the rock, out yonder, is good elvan,
+and that is why the sea has made an island of it, wearing away the
+softer stuff inshore. The mischief here lies in the rock, not in the
+light-house."
+
+"The sea has weakened our base?"
+
+"Partly; but the light-house has done more. In a strong gale the
+foundations begin to work, and in the chafing the bed of rock gets the
+worst of it."
+
+"What about concrete?"
+
+"You might fill up the sockets with concrete; but I doubt, sir, if
+the case would hold for any time. The rock is a mere shell in places,
+especially on the northwestern side."
+
+"H'm. You were at Oxford for a time, were you not?"
+
+"Yes, sir," Taffy answered, wondering.
+
+"I've heard about you. Where do you live?"
+
+Taffy pointed to the last of a line of three whitewashed cottages behind
+the light-house.
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"No, sir; with my mother and my grandmother. She is an invalid."
+
+"I wonder if your mother would be kind enough to offer me a cup of tea?"
+
+In the small kitchen, on the walls of which, and even on the dresser,
+Taffy's books fought for room with Humility's plates and tin-ware,
+the Chief Engineer proved to be a most courteous old gentleman. Toward
+Humility he bore himself with an antique politeness which flattered her
+considerably. And when he praised her tea, she almost forgave him for
+his detestable habit of snuff-taking.
+
+He had heard something (it appeared) from the President of Taffy's
+college, and also from — (he named Taffy's old friend in the velvet
+college-cap). In later days Taffy maintained not only that every man
+must try to stand alone, but that he ought to try the harder because of
+its impossibility; for in fact it was impossible to escape from men's
+helpfulness. And though his work lay in lonely places where in the end
+fame came out to seek him, he remained the same boy who, waking in the
+dark, had heard the bugles speaking comfort.
+
+As a matter of fact his college had generously offered him a chance,
+which would have cost him nothing or next to nothing, of continuing to
+read for his degree. But he had chosen his line, and against Humility's
+entreaties he stuck to it. The Chief Engineer took a ceremonious
+leave. He had to drive back to his hotel, and Taffy escorted him to his
+carriage.
+
+"I shall run over again to-morrow," he said at parting; "and we'll
+have a look at that island rock." He was driven off, secretly a little
+puzzled.
+
+Well, it puzzled Taffy at times why he should be working here with
+Mendarva's men for twenty shillings a week (it had been eighteen to
+begin with) when he might be reading for his degree and a fellowship.
+Yet in his heart he knew the reason. _That_ would be building, after
+all, on the foundations which Honoria had laid.
+
+Pride had helped chance to bring him here, to the very spot where
+Lizzie Pezzack lived. He met her daily, and several times a day. She,
+and his mother and grandmother, were all the womanfolk in the hamlet—if
+three cottages deserve that name. In the first cottage Lizzie lived
+with her father, who was chief lighthouse-man, and her crippled child;
+two under-keepers, unmarried men, managed together in the second; and
+this accident allowed Taffy to rent the third from the Brethren of
+the Trinity House and live close to his daily work. Unless brought by
+business, no one visited that windy peninsula; no one passed within
+sight of it; no tree grew upon it or could be seen from it. At daybreak
+Taffy's workmen came trudging along the track where the short turf and
+gentians grew between the wheel-ruts; and in the evening went trudging
+back, the level sun flashing on their empty dinner-cans. The eight souls
+left behind had one common gospel—Cleanliness. Very little dust found
+its way thither; but the salt, spray-laden air kept them constantly
+polishing window-panes and brass-work. To wash, to scour, to polish,
+grew into the one absorbing business of life. They had no gossip; even
+in their own dwellings they spoke but little; their speech shrank and
+dwindled away in the continuous roar of the sea. But from morning to
+night, mechanically, they washed and scoured and polished. Paper was not
+whiter than the deal table and dresser which Humility scrubbed daily
+with soap and water, and once a week with lemon-juice as well. Never
+was cleaner linen to sight and smell than that which she pegged out by
+the furze-brake on the ridge. All the life of the small colony, though
+lonely, grew wholesome as it was simple of purpose in cottages thus
+sweetened and kept sweet by lime-wash and the salt wind.
+
+And through it moved the forlorn figure of Lizzie Pezzack's child.
+Somehow Lizzie had taught the boy to walk, with the help of a crutch,
+as early as most children; but the wind made cruel sport with his first
+efforts in the open, knocking the crutch from under him at every third
+step, and laying him flat. The child had pluck, however, and when autumn
+came round again, could face a fairly stiff breeze.
+
+It was about this time that word came of the Trinity Board's intention
+to replace the old light-house with one upon the outer rock. For the
+Chief Engineer had visited it and decided that Taffy was right. To be
+sure no mention was made of Taffy in his report; but the great man took
+the first opportunity to offer him the post of foreman of the works,
+so there was certainly nothing to be grumbled at. The work did not
+actually start until the following spring; for the rock, to receive
+the foundations, had to be bored some feet below high-water level, and
+this could only be attempted on calm days or when a southerly wind blew
+from the high land well over the workmen's heads, leaving the inshore
+water smooth. On such days Taffy, looking up from his work, would catch
+sight of a small figure on the cliff-top leaning aslant to the wind and
+watching.
+
+For the child was adventurous and took no account of his lameness.
+Perhaps if he thought of it at all, having no chance to compare
+himself with other children, he accepted his lameness as a condition of
+childhood—something he would grow out of. His mother could not keep him
+indoors; he fidgetted continually. But he would sit or stand quiet by
+the hour on the cliff-top, watching the men as they drilled and fixed
+the dynamite, and waiting for the bang of it. Best of all, however,
+were the days when his grandfather allowed him inside the lighthouse,
+to clamber about the staircase and ladders, to watch the oiling and
+trimming of the great lantern and the ships moving slowly on the
+horizon. He asked a thousand questions about them.
+
+"I think," said he, one day before he was three years old, "that my
+father is in one of those ships."
+
+"Bless the child!" exclaimed old Pezzack. "Who says you have a father?"
+
+"_Everybody_ has a father. Dicky Tregenza has one; they both work down
+at the rock. I asked Dicky and he told me."
+
+"Told 'ee what?"
+
+"That everybody has a father. I asked him if mine was out in one of
+those ships, and he said very likely. I asked mother, too, but she was
+washing-up and wouldn't listen."
+
+Old Pezzack regarded the child grimly. "'Twas to be, I s'pose," he
+muttered.
+
+Lizzie Pezzack had never set foot inside the Raymonds' cottage.
+Humility, gentle soul as she was, could on some points be as unchristian
+as other women. As time went on, it seemed that not a soul beside
+herself and Taffy knew of Honoria's suspicion. She even doubted, and
+Taffy doubted, too, if Lizzie herself knew such an accusation had
+been made. Certainly never by word or look had Lizzie hinted at it.
+Yet Humility could not find it in her heart to forgive her. "She may
+be innocent," was the thought; "but through her came the injury to my
+son." Taffy by this time had no doubt at all. It was George who poisoned
+Honoria's ear; George's shame and Honoria's pride would explain why the
+whisper had never gone further; and nothing else would explain.
+
+Did his mother guess this? He believed so at times; but they never spoke
+of it.
+
+The lame child was often in the Raymonds' kitchen. Lizzie did not forbid
+or resent this. And he liked Humility and would talk to her at length
+while he nibbled one of her dripping-cakes. "People don't tell the
+truth," he observed, sagely, on one of these occasions. (He pronounced
+it "troof," by the way.) "_I_ know why we live here. It's because we're
+near the sea. My father's on the sea somewhere, looking for us; and
+grandfather lights the lamp every night to tell him where we are. One
+night he'll see it and bring his ship in and take us all off together."
+
+"Who told you all this?"
+
+"Nobody. People won't tell me nothing (nofing). I has to make it out in
+my head."
+
+At times, when his small limbs grew weary (though he never acknowledged
+this), he would stretch himself on the short turf of the headland and
+lie staring up at the white gulls. No one ever came near enough to
+surprise the look which then crept over the child's face. But Taffy,
+passing him at a distance, remembered another small boy, and shivered
+to remember and compare—
+
+     A boy's will is the wind's will
+     And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
+
+—but how, when the boy is a cripple?
+
+One afternoon he was stooping to inspect an obstinate piece of boring
+when the man at his elbow said:
+
+"Hullo! edn' that young Joey Pezzack in difficulties up there? Blest if
+the cheeld won't break his neck wan of these days!"
+
+Taffy caught up a coil of rope, sprang into a boat, and pushed across to
+land. "Don't move!" he shouted. At the foot of the cliff he picked up
+Joey's crutch, and ran at full speed up the path worn by the workmen.
+This led him round to the verge, ten feet above the ledge where the
+child clung white and silent. He looped the rope in a running noose and
+lowered it.
+
+"Slip this under your arms. Can you manage, or shall I come down? I'll
+come if you're hurt."
+
+"I've twisted my foot. It's all right, now you're come," said the little
+man, bravely; and slid the rope round himself in the most businesslike
+way.
+
+"The grass was slipper—" he began, as soon as his feet touched firm
+earth; and with that he broke down and fell to sobbing in Taffy's arms.
+
+Taffy carried him—a featherweight—to the cottage where Lizzie stood by
+her table washing up. She saw them at the gate and came running out.
+
+"It's all right. He slipped—out on the cliff. Nothing more than a
+scratch or two and perhaps a sprained ankle."
+
+He watched while she set Joey in a chair and began to pull off his
+stockings. He had never seen the child's foot naked. She turned
+suddenly, caught him looking, and pulled the stocking back over the
+deformity.
+
+"Have you heard?" she asked.
+
+"What?"
+
+"_She_ has a boy! Ah!" she laughed, harshly, "I thought that would hurt
+you. Well, you _have_ been a silly!"
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+"You don't think you understand!" she mimicked. "And you're not fond of
+her, eh? Never were fond of her, eh? You silly—to let him take her, and
+never tell!"
+
+"Tell?"
+
+She faced him, hardening her gaze. "Yes, tell—" She nodded slowly; while
+Joey, unobserved by either, looked up with wide, round eyes.
+
+"Men don't fight like that." The words were out before it struck him
+that one man had, almost certainly, fought like that. Her face, however,
+told him nothing. She could not know. "_You_ have never told," he added.
+
+"Because—" she began, but could not tell him the whole truth. And yet
+what she said was true. "Because you would not let me," she muttered.
+
+"In the churchyard, you mean—on her wedding-day?"
+
+"Before that."
+
+"But before that I never guessed."
+
+"All the same, I knew what you were. You wouldn't have let me. It came
+to the same thing. And if I had told—Oh, you make it hard for me!" she
+wailed.
+
+He stared at her, understanding this only—that somehow he could control
+her will.
+
+"I will never let you tell," he said, gravely.
+
+"I hate her!"
+
+"You shall not tell."
+
+"Listen"—she drew close and touched his arm. "He never cared for her;
+it's not his way to care. She cares for him now, I dessay—not as she
+might have cared for you—but she's his wife, and some women are like
+that. There's her pride, anyway. Suppose—suppose he came back to me?"
+
+"If I caught him—" Taffy began; but the poor child, who for two minutes
+had been twisting his face heroically, interrupted with a wail:
+
+"Oh, mother! my foot—it hurts so!"
+
+(To be continued.)
+
+
+
+
+ROMANCE
+
+
+     Say that the days of the dark are dawning,
+       Say that we come to the middle years,
+     The workday week that hath no bright morning,
+       The life that is dulled of its hopes and fears—
+     But, the cooled blood still and the tired heart scorning,
+       The soul is in eyes that are dry of tears.
+
+     Quiet thy heart, since others are loving;
+       Still thy soul, for the sky is vast;
+     Rest thy limbs from the stale earth roving,
+       Plow in the furrow thy lot is cast:
+     So, when the Spring all the earth is moving,
+       A flower may fall to thy feet at last.
+
+     Charles the King at the block stood biding
+       The blow that set him at peace with man,
+     Weary of life, of the crowd deriding,
+       Worn at his lips his smile so wan—
+     Under the floor of the block lay hiding
+       Athos and Porthos and d'Artagnan!
+
+     Perhaps;—and so, while the hand still turneth,
+       As one's who serves, to his daily chore;
+     While she who once walked beside, returneth
+       To walk with her hand in thine no more—
+     Under thy heart's work-wear there burneth
+       The love that is hers for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+SEARCH-LIGHT LETTERS
+
+LETTER TO A POLITICAL OPTIMIST
+
+By Robert Grant
+
+
+I
+
+I approve of you, for I am an optimist myself in regard to human
+affairs, and can conscientiously agree with many of the patriotic
+statements concerning the greatness of the American people contained in
+your letter. Your letter interested me because it differed so signally
+in its point of view from the others which I received at the same
+time—the time when I ran for Congress as a Democrat in a hopelessly
+Republican district and was defeated. The other letters were gloomy in
+tone. They deplored the degeneracy of our political institutions, and
+argued from the circumstance that the voters of my district preferred
+"a hack politician" and "blatant demagogue" to "an educated philosopher"
+(the epithets are not mine); that we were going to the dogs as a nation.
+The prophecy was flattering to me in my individual capacity, but it
+has not served to soil the limpid, sunny flow of my philosophy. I was
+gratified, but not convinced. I behold the flag of my country still with
+moistened eyes—the eyes of pride, and I continue to bow affably to my
+successful rival.
+
+Your suggestion was much nearer the truth. You indicated with pardonable
+levity that I was not elected because the other man received more votes.
+I smiled at that as an apt statement. You went on to take me to task for
+having given the impression in my published account of the political
+canvass not merely that I ought to have been elected, but that the
+failure to elect me was the sign of a lack of moral and intellectual
+fibre in the American people. If I mistake not, you referred to me
+farther on in the style of airy persiflage as a "holier than thou,"
+a journalistic, scriptural phrase in current use among so-called
+patriotic Americans. And then you began to argue: You requested me to
+give us time, and called attention to the fact that the English system
+of rotten boroughs in vogue fifty years ago was worse than anything
+we have to-day. "We are a young and impetuous people," you wrote, "but
+there is noble blood in our veins—the blood which inspired the greatness
+of Washington and Hamilton and Franklin and Jefferson and Webster and
+Abraham Lincoln. Water does not run up hill. Neither do the American
+people move backward. Its destiny is to progress and to grow mightier
+and mightier. And those who seek to retard our national march by cynical
+insinuations and sneers, by scholastic sophistries and philosophical
+wimwams, will find themselves inevitably under the wheels of Juggernaut,
+the car of republican institutions."
+
+Philosophical wimwams! You sought to wound me in a tender spot. I
+forgive you for that, and I like your fervor. Those rotten boroughs have
+done yeoman service. They are on the tongue of every American citizen
+seeking for excuses for our national shortcomings. But for my dread of
+a mixed metaphor I would add that they are moth-eaten and threadbare.
+
+Your letter becomes then a miscellaneous catalogue of our national
+prowess. You instance the cotton-gin, the telegraph, the sewing-machine,
+and the telephone, and ask me to bear witness that they are the
+inventions of free-born Americans. You refer to the heroism and vigor
+of the nation during the Civil War, and its mighty growth in prosperity
+and population since; to the colleges and academies of learning, to the
+hospitals and other monuments of intelligent philanthropy, to the huge
+railroad systems, public works, and private plants which have come into
+being with mushroom-like growth over the country. You recall the energy,
+independence, and conscientious desire for Christian progress among
+our citizens, young and old, and, as a new proof of their disinterested
+readiness to sacrifice comfort for the sake of principle, you cite the
+recent emancipation of Cuba. Your letter closes with a Fourth of July
+panegyric on the heroes on land and sea of the war with Spain, followed
+by an exclamation point which seems to say, "Mr. Philosopher, put that
+in your pipe and smoke it."
+
+I have done so, and admit that there is a great deal to be proud of in
+the Olla Podrida of exploits and virtues which you have set before me.
+Far be it from me to question the greatness and capacity of your and
+my countrymen. But while my heart throbs agreeably from the thrill of
+sincere patriotism, I venture to remind you that cotton-gins, academies
+of learning, and first-class battle-ships have little to do with the
+matter in question. Your mode of procedure reminds me of the plea I have
+heard used to obtain partners for a homely girl—that she is good to
+her mother. I notice that you include our political sanctity by a few
+sonorous phrases in the dazzling compendium of national success, but I
+also notice that you do not condescend to details. That is what I intend
+to do, philosophically yet firmly.
+
+To begin with, I am not willing to admit that I was piqued by my failure
+to be elected to Congress. I did not expect to succeed, and my tone was,
+it seems to me, blandly resigned and even rather grateful than otherwise
+that such a serious honor had been thrust upon me. Success would have
+postponed indefinitely the trip to Japan on which my wife, Josephine,
+had set her heart. In short, I supposed that I had concealed alike grief
+and jubilation, and taken the result in a purely philosophic spirit. It
+seems though that you were able to read between the lines—that is what
+you state—and to discern my condescending tone and lack of faith in
+the desire and intention of the plain people of these United States to
+select competent political representatives. I can assure you that I have
+arrived at no such dire state of mind, and I should be sorry to come
+to that conclusion; but, though a philosopher, and hence, politically
+speaking, a worm, I have a proper spirit of my own and beg to inform you
+that the desire and intention of our fellow-countrymen, whether plain
+or otherwise, so to do is, judging by their behavior, open to grave
+question. So you see I stand at bay almost where you supposed, and there
+is a definite issue between us. Judging by their behavior, remember.
+Judging by their words, butter would not melt in their mouths. I merely
+wish to call your attention to a few notorious facts in defence of my
+attitude of suspicion.
+
+     (_Note._—"Josephine," said I to my wife at this point, "please
+     enumerate the prominent elective offices in the gift of the
+     American people."
+
+     My wife rose and after a courtesy, which was mock deferential,
+     proceeded to recite, with the glib fluency of a school-girl,
+     the following list: "Please, sir,
+
+               President.
+               Senators of the United States (elected by the State
+                 legislatures).
+               Representatives of the United States.
+               State Senators.
+               State Assemblymen or Representatives.
+               Aldermen.
+               Members of the City Council.
+               Members of the School Committee."
+
+     "Correct, Josephine. I pride myself that, thanks to my
+     prodding, you are beginning to acquire some rudimentary
+     knowledge concerning the institutions of your country. Thanks
+     to me and Professor Bryce. Before Professor Bryce wrote 'The
+     American Commonwealth,' American women seemed to care little
+     to know anything about our political system. They studied more
+     or less about the systems of other countries, but displayed a
+     profound ignorance concerning our own form of government. But
+     after an Englishman had published a book on the subject, and
+     made manifest to them that our institutions were reasonably
+     worthy of attention, considerable improvement has been
+     noticeable. But I will say that few women are as well posted
+     as you, Josephine."
+
+     She made another mock deferential courtesy. "Thank you, my
+     lord and master; and lest you have not made it sufficiently
+     clear that my superiority in this respect is due to your—your
+     nagging, I mention again that you are chiefly responsible for
+     it. It bores me, but I submit to it."
+
+     "Continue then your docility so far as to write the names
+     which you have just recited on separate slips of paper and
+     put them in a proper receptacle. Then I will draw one as a
+     preliminary step in the political drama which I intend to
+     present for the edification of our correspondent."
+
+     Josephine did as she was bid, and in the process, by way of
+     showing that she was not such a martyr as she would have the
+     world believe, remarked, "If you had really been elected,
+     Fred, I think I might have made a valuable political ally.
+     What I find tedious about politics is that they're not
+     practical—that is for me. If you were in Congress now, I
+     should make a point of having everything political at the tip
+     of my tongue."
+
+     "Curiously enough, my dear, I am just going to give an
+     object-lesson in practical politics, and you as well as our
+     young friend may be able to learn wisdom from it. Now for
+     a blind choice!" I added, putting my hand into the work-bag
+     which she held out.
+
+     "Aldermen!" I announced after scrutinizing the slip, which I
+     had drawn. Josephine's nose went up a trifle.
+
+     "A very fortunate and comprehensive selection," I asserted.
+     "The Alderman and the influences which operate upon and around
+     him lie at the root of American practical politics. And from
+     a careful study of the root you will be able to decide how
+     genuinely healthy and free from taint must be the tree—the
+     tree which bears such ornamental flowers as Presidents and
+     United States Senators, gorgeous blooms of apparent dignity
+     and perfume.")
+
+This being a drama, my young patriot, I wish to introduce you to
+the stage and the principal characters. The stage is any city in the
+United States of three hundred thousand or more inhabitants. It would
+be invidious for me to mention names where anyone would answer to the
+requirements. Some may be worse than others, but all are bad enough. A
+bold and pessimistic beginning, is it not, my optimistic friend?
+
+And now for the company. This drama differs from most dramatic
+productions in that it makes demands upon a large number of actors. To
+produce it properly on the theatrical stage would bankrupt any manager
+unless he were subsidized heavily from the revenues of the twenty
+leading villains. The cast includes besides twenty leading villains,
+twelve low comedians, no hero, no heroine (except, incidentally,
+Josephine); eight newspaper editors; ten thousand easy-going
+second-class villains; ten thousand patriotic, conscientious, and
+enlightened citizens, including a sprinkling of ardent reformers;
+twenty-five thousand zealous, hide-bound partisans; fifty thousand
+respectable, well-intentioned, tolerably ignorant citizens who vote, but
+are too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to politics, and
+as a consequence generally vote the party ticket, or vote to please a
+"friend;" ten thousand superior, self-centred souls who neglect to vote
+and despise politics anyway, among them poets, artists, scientists, some
+men of leisure, and travellers; ten thousand enemies of social order
+such as gamblers, thieves, keepers of dives, drunkards, and toughs; and
+your philosopher.
+
+A very large stock company. I will leave the precise arithmetic to you.
+I wish merely to indicate the variegated composition of the average
+political constituency, and to let you perceive that the piece which is
+being performed is no parlor comedy. It is written in dead earnest, and
+it seems to me that the twenty leading villains, though smooth and in
+some instances aristocratic appearing individuals, are among the most
+dangerous characters in the history of this or any other stage. But
+before I refer to them more particularly I will make you acquainted with
+our twelve low comedians—the Board of Aldermen.
+
+It is probably a surprise to you and to Josephine that the Aldermen
+are not the villains. Everything is comparative in this world, and,
+though I might have made them villains without injustice to such virtues
+as they possess, I should have been at a loss how to stigmatize the
+real promoters of the villainy. And after all there is an element of
+grotesque comedy about the character of Aldermen in a large American
+city. The indecency of the situation is so unblushing, and the public
+is so helpless, that the performers remind one in their good-natured
+antics of the thieves in "Fra Diavolo;" they get bolder and bolder and
+now barely take the trouble to wear the mask of respectability.
+
+Have I written "thieves?" Patriotic Americans look askance at such
+full-blooded expressions. They prefer ambiguity, and a less harsh
+phraseology—"slight irregularities," "business misfortunes," "commercial
+usages," "professional services," "campaign expenses," "lack of fine
+sensibilities," "unauthenticated rumors." There are fifty ways of
+letting one's fellow-citizens down easily in the public prints and in
+private conversation. This is a charitable age, and the word thief has
+become unfamiliar, except as applied to rogues who enter houses as a
+trade. The community and the newspapers are chary of applying it to
+folk who steal covertly but steadily and largely as an increment of
+municipal office. It is inconvenient to hurt the feelings of public
+servants, especially when one may have voted for them from carelessness
+or ignorance.
+
+Here is a list of the twelve low comedians for your inspection:
+
+     Peter Lynch, no occupation,
+     James Griffin, stevedore,
+     William H. Bird, real estate,
+     John S. Maloney, saloon-keeper,
+     David H. Barker, carpenter,
+     Jeremiah Dolan, no occupation,
+     Patrick K. Higgins, junk dealer,
+     Joseph Heffernan, liquors,
+     William T. Moore, apothecary,
+     James O. Frost, paints and oils,
+     Michael O'Rourke, tailor,
+     John P. Driscoll, lawyer.
+
+You will be surprised by my first statement regarding them, I dare
+say. Four of them, Peter Lynch, James Griffin, Jeremiah Dolan, and
+Michael O'Rourke neither drink nor smoke. Jeremiah Dolan chews, but
+the three others do not use tobacco in any form. They are patterns
+of Sunday-school virtue in these respects. This was a very surprising
+discovery to one of the minor characters in our drama—to two of them
+in fact—Mr. Arthur Langdon Waterhouse and his father, James Langdon
+Waterhouse, Esq. The young man, who had just returned from Europe
+with the idea of becoming United States Senator and who expressed a
+willingness to serve as a Reform Alderman while waiting, announced the
+discovery to his parent shortly before election with a mystified air.
+
+"Do you know," said he to the old gentleman, who, by the way, though
+he has denounced every person and every measure in connection with our
+politics for forty years, was secretly pleased at his son's senatorial
+aspirations, "do you know that someone told me to-day that four of
+the very worst of those fellows have never drunk a drop of liquor,
+nor smoked a pipe of tobacco in their lives. Isn't it a curious
+circumstance? I supposed they were intoxicated most of the time."
+
+You will notice also that Peter Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan have no
+occupation. Each of them has been connected in some capacity with the
+City Government for nearly twenty years, and they are persons of great
+experience. They have more than once near election time been amiably
+referred to in the press as "valuable public servants," and it must
+be admitted that they are efficient in their way. Certainly, they know
+the red tape of City Hall from A to Z, and understand how to block or
+forward any measure. The salary of Alderman is not large—certainly
+not large enough to satisfy indefinitely such capable men as they,
+and yet they continue to appear year after year at the same old stand.
+Moreover, they resist vigorously every effort to dislodge them, whether
+proceeding from political opponents or envious rivals of their own
+party. A philosopher like myself, who is, politically speaking, a worm,
+is expected to believe that valuable public servants retain office for
+the honor of the thing; but even a philosopher becomes suspicious of a
+patriot who has no occupation.
+
+Next in importance are Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll.
+It is a well-known axiom of popular government that citizens are called
+from the plough or counting-room to public office by the urgent request
+of their friends and neighbors. As a fact, this takes place two or
+three times in a century. Most aspirants for office go through the form
+of having a letter from their friends and neighbors published in the
+newspapers, but only the very guileless portion of the public do not
+understand that the candidates in these cases suggest themselves. It
+is sometimes done, delicately, as, for instance, in the case of young
+Arthur Langdon Waterhouse, of whom I was writing just now. He let a
+close friend intimate to the ward committee that he would like to run
+for Alderman, and that in consideration thereof his father would be
+willing to subscribe $2,000 to the party campaign fund. It seems to a
+philosopher that a patriotic people should either re-edit its political
+axioms or live up to them.
+
+Now Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll never go through
+the ceremony of being called from the plough—in their case the ward
+bar-room. They announce six months in advance that they wish something,
+and they state clearly what. They are perpetual candidates for, or
+incumbents of, office, and to be elected or defeated annually costs each
+of them from two to four thousand dollars, according to circumstances.
+One of them has been in the Assembly, the Governor's Council, and
+in both branches of the City Government; the other a member of the
+Assembly, a State Senator, and an Alderman, and both of them are now
+glad to be Aldermen once more after a desperate Kilkenny contest for the
+nomination. They are called Honorable by the reporters; and philosophers
+and other students of newspapers are constantly informed that Hon.
+William H. Bird has done this, and Hon. John P. Driscoll said that.
+
+These four are the big men of the Board. The others are smaller fry;
+ambitious and imitative, but less experienced and smooth and audacious.
+Yet the four have their virtues, too. It is safe to state that no one of
+them would take anything beyond his reach. Moreover, if you, a patriot,
+or I, a philosopher, were to find himself alone in a room with one of
+them and had five thousand dollars in bills in his pocket and the fact
+were known to him, he would make no effort to possess himself of the
+money. We should be absolutely safe from assault or sleight of hand.
+Whoever would maintain the opposite does not appreciate the honesty of
+the American people. If, on the other hand, under similar circumstances,
+the right man were to place an envelope containing one thousand dollars
+in bills on the table and saunter to the window to admire the view,
+the packet would disappear before he returned to his seat and neither
+party would be able to remember that it ever was there. I do not intend
+to intimate that this is the precise method of procedure; I am merely
+explaining that our comedians have not the harsh habits of old-fashioned
+highwaymen.
+
+Then again, there are people so fatuous as to believe that Aldermen
+are accustomed to help themselves out of the city treasury. That is a
+foolish fiction, for no Alderman could. The City Hall is too bulky to
+remove, and all appropriations of the public money are made by draft
+and have to be accounted for. If any member of the Board were to make
+a descent on the funds in the safe, he would be arrested as a lunatic
+and sent to an insane asylum.
+
+As for the other eight low comedians, it happens in this particular
+drama that I would be unwilling to make an affidavit as to the absolute
+integrity of any one of them. But there are apt to be two or even three
+completely honest members of these august bodies, and two or three more
+who are pretty honest. A pretty honest Alderman is like a pretty good
+egg. A pretty honest Alderman would be incapable of touching an envelope
+containing $1,000, or charging one hundred in return for his support
+to a petition for a bay-window; but if he were in the paint and oil
+business or the lumber trade, or interested in hay and oats, it would be
+safe to assume that any department of the City Government which did not
+give his firm directly or indirectly a part of its trade would receive
+no aldermanic favors at his hands. Then again, a pretty honest Alderman
+would allow a friend to sell a spavined horse to the city.
+
+
+II
+
+Having hinted gently at the leading characteristics of the twelve
+low comedians, I am ready now to make you acquainted with the twenty
+leading villains. There is something grimly humorous in the spectacle
+of a dozen genial, able-bodied, non-alcoholic ruffians levying tribute
+on a community too self-absorbed or too easy-going or too indifferent
+to rid itself of them. I find, on the other hand, something somewhat
+pathetic in the spectacle of twenty otherwise reputable citizens and
+capitalists driven to villainy by the force of circumstances. To be a
+villain against one's will is an unnatural and pitiable situation.
+
+     That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!
+
+Here is the list:
+
+Thomas Barnstable, President of the People's Heat and Power Company.
+
+William B. Wilcox, General Manager of the North Circuit Traction Company.
+
+David J. Prendergast, Treasurer of the Underground Steam Company.
+
+Porter King, President of the South Valley Railroad Company.
+
+James Plugh, Treasurer of the Star Brewing Concern.
+
+Ex-State Treasurer George Delaney Johnson, Manager of the United Gas
+Company.
+
+Willis O. Golightly, Treasurer of the Consolidated Electric Works.
+
+Hon. Samuel Phipps, President of the Sparkling Reservoir Company.
+
+P. Ashton Hall, President of the Rapid Despatch Company.
+
+Ex-Congressman Henry B. Pullen, Manager of the Maguinnis Engine Works.
+And so on. I will not weary you with a complete category. It would
+contain the names of twelve other gentlemen no less prominent in
+connection with quasi-public and large private business corporations.
+With them should be associated one thousand easy-going second-class
+villains, whose names are not requisite to my argument, but who
+from one year to another are obliged, by the exigencies of business
+or enterprise, to ask for licenses from the non-alcoholic, genial
+comedians, for permission to build a stable, to erect a bay-window, to
+peddle goods in the streets, to maintain a coal-hole, to drain into a
+sewer, to lay wires underground; in short, to do one or another of the
+many everyday things which can be done only by permission of the City
+Government. And the pity of it is that they all would rather not be
+villains.
+
+     (_Note._—At the suggestion of Josephine I here enter a caveat
+     for my and her protection. While I was enumerating the list
+     of low comedians she interrupted me to ask if I did not fear
+     lest one of them might sand-bag me some dark night on account
+     of wounded sensibilities. She laughed, but I saw she was a
+     little nervous.
+
+     "I have mentioned no real names," said I.
+
+     "That is true," she said, "but somehow I feel that the real
+     ones might be suspicious that they were meant."
+
+     I told her that this was their lookout, and that, besides,
+     they were much too secure in the successful performance
+     of their comedy to go out of their way to assassinate a
+     philosopher. "They would say, Josephine, that a philosopher
+     cuts no ice, which is true, and is moreover a serious stigma
+     to fasten on any patriotic man or woman." But now again
+     she has brought me to book on the score of the feelings
+     of the leading villains. She appreciates that we are on
+     terms of considerable friendliness with some Presidents
+     of corporations, and that though my list contains no real
+     names, I may give offence. Perhaps she fears a sort of
+     social boycott. Let me satisfy her scruples and do justice
+     at the same time by admitting that not every President of
+     a quasi-public corporation is a leading villain. Nor every
+     Alderman a low comedian. That will let out all my friends.
+     But, on the other hand, I ask the attention even of my friends
+     to the predicament of Thomas Barnstable, President of the
+     People's Heat and Power Company.)
+
+Thomas Barnstable, the leading villain whose case I select for
+detailed presentation, has none of the coarser proclivities of David
+J. Prendergast, Treasurer of the Underground Steam Company. As regards
+David J. Prendergast, I could almost retract my allegation of pity and
+assert that he is a villain by premeditation and without compunction.
+That is, his method of dealing with the twelve low comedians is, I
+am told, conducted on a cold utilitarian basis without struggle of
+conscience or effort at self-justification. He says to the modern
+highwaymen, "Fix your price and let my bill pass. My time is valuable
+and so is yours, and the quicker we come to terms, the better for us
+both." What he says behind their backs is not fit for publication;
+but he recognizes the existence of the tax just as he recognizes the
+existence of the tariff, and he has no time to waste in considering the
+effect of either on the higher destinies of the nation.
+
+Thomas Barnstable belongs to another school. He is a successful business
+man. In the ordinary meaning of the phrase, he is also a gentleman
+and a scholar. His word in private and in business life is as good
+as his bond; he respects the rights of the fatherless and the widow,
+and he is known favorably in philanthropic and religious circles.
+Having recognized the value of certain patents, he has become a large
+owner of the stock of the People's Heat and Power Company, and is
+the President of the corporation. Hitherto he has had plain sailing,
+municipally speaking. That is, the original franchise of the company was
+obtained from the city before he became President, and only this year
+for the first time has the necessity of asking for further privileges
+arisen. Moreover, he finds his corporation confronted by a rival, the
+Underground Steam Company.
+
+Now here is a portion of the dialogue which took place five weeks before
+election between this highly respectable gentleman and his right-hand
+man, Mr. John Dowling, the efficient practical manager of the People's
+Company.
+
+"Peter Lynch was here to-day," said Mr. Dowling.
+
+"And who may Peter Lynch be?" was the dignified but unconcerned answer.
+
+"Peter Lynch is Peter Lynch. Don't you know Peter? He's the Alderman
+from the fifth district. He has been Alderman for ten years, and so far
+as I can see, he is likely to continue to be Alderman for ten more."
+
+"Ah."
+
+"Peter was in good-humor. He was smiling all over."
+
+Mr. Dowling paused, so his superior said, "Oh!" Then realizing that the
+manager was still silent, as though expecting a question, he said, "What
+did he come for?"
+
+"He wishes us to help him mend his fences. Some of them need repairing.
+The wear and tear of political life is severe."
+
+"I see—I see," responded Mr. Barnstable, reflectively, putting his
+finger-tips together. "What sort of a man is Peter?"
+
+Mr. Dowling hesitated a moment, merely because he was uncertain how to
+deal with such innocence. Having concluded that frankness was the most
+businesslike course, he answered, bluffly, "He's an infernal thief. He's
+out for the stuff."
+
+"The stuff? I see—I see. Very bad, very bad. It's an outrage that
+under our free form of government such men should get a foothold in our
+cities. I hope, Dowling, you gave him the cold shoulder, and let him
+understand that under no consideration whatever would we contribute one
+dollar to his support."
+
+"On the contrary, I gave him a cigar and pumped him."
+
+"Pumped him?"
+
+"I wanted to find out what he knows."
+
+"Dear me. And—er—what does he know?"
+
+"He knows all about our bill, and he says he'd like to support it."
+
+This was a shock, for the bill was supposed to be a secret.
+
+"How did he find out about it?"
+
+"Dreamt it in his sleep, I guess."
+
+"I don't care for his support, I won't have it," said Mr. Barnstable,
+bringing his hand down forcibly on his desk to show his earnestness and
+indignation. "I wish very much, Mr. Dowling, that you had told him to
+leave the office and never show his impudent face here again."
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Mr. Dowling fingered his
+watch-chain; then he said, in a quiet tone, "He says that the
+Underground Steam Company is going to move heaven and earth to elect
+men who will vote to give them a location."
+
+"I trust you let him know that the Underground Steam Company is a stock
+jobbing, disreputable concern with no financial status."
+
+"It wasn't necessary for me to tell him that. He knows it. He said he
+would prefer to side with us and keep them out of the streets, which
+meant of course that he knew we were able to pay the most if we chose.
+It seems Prendergast has been at him already."
+
+"Disgusting! They both ought to be in jail."
+
+"Amen. He says he gave Prendergast an evasive answer, and is to see
+him again next Tuesday. There's the situation, Mr. Barnstable. I tell
+you frankly that Lynch is an important man to keep friendly to our
+interests. He is very smart and well posted, and if we allow him to
+oppose us, we shall have no end of trouble. He is ready to take the
+ground that the streets ought not be dug up, and that a respectable
+corporation like ours should not be interfered with. Only he expects to
+be looked after in return. I deplore the condition of affairs as much
+as you do, but I tell you frankly that he is certain to go over to the
+other side and oppose us tooth and nail unless we show ourselves what
+he calls friendly to his 'interests.'"
+
+"Then we'll prevent his election. I would subscribe money toward that
+myself."
+
+The Manager coughed, by way perhaps of concealing a smile. "That would
+not be easy," he said. "And if it could be done, how should we be better
+off? Peter Lynch is only one of fifteen or twenty, many of whom are
+worse than he. By worse I mean equally unscrupulous and less efficient.
+Here, Mr. Barnstable, is a list of the candidates for Aldermen on
+both sides. I have been carefully over it and checked off the names
+of those most likely to be chosen, and I find that it comprises twelve
+out-and-out thieves, five sneak-thieves, as I call them, because they
+pilfer only in a small way and pass as pretty honest; four easy-going,
+broken-winded incapables, and three perfectly honest men, one of them
+thoroughly stupid. Now, if we have to deal with thieves, it is desirable
+to deal with those most likely to be of real service. There are four men
+on this list who can, if they choose, help us or hurt us materially.
+If we get them, they will be able to swing enough votes to control
+the situation; if they're against us, our bill will be side-tracked or
+defeated and the Underground Steam Company will get its franchise. That
+means, as you know, serious injury to our stockholders. There's the case
+in a nut-shell."
+
+"What are their names?" asked Mr. Barnstable, faintly.
+
+"Peter Lynch, Jeremiah Dolan, William H. Bird, and John P. Driscoll,
+popularly known in the inner circles of City Hall politics as 'the big
+four.' And they are—four of the biggest thieves in the community."
+
+"Dear me," said Mr. Barnstable. "And what is it you advise doing?"
+
+"Like the coon in the tree, I should say, 'Don't shoot and I'll come
+down.' It's best to have a clear understanding from the start."
+
+"What I meant to ask was—er—what is it that this Peter Lynch wishes?"
+
+"He uttered nothing but glittering generalities; that he desired to know
+who his friends were, and whether, in case he were elected, he could be
+of any service to our corporation. The English of that is, he expects in
+the first place a liberal subscription for campaign expenses—and after
+that retaining fees from time to time as our attorney or agent, which
+will vary in size according to the value of the services rendered."
+
+A faint gleam of cunning hope appeared in Mr. Barnstable's eyes.
+
+"Then anything we—er—contributed could properly be charged to attorney's
+fees?" he said by way of thinking aloud.
+
+"Certainly—attorney's fees, services as agent, profit and loss,
+extraordinary expenses, machinery account, bad debts—there are a dozen
+ways of explaining the outlay. And no outlay may be necessary. A tip on
+the stock will do just as well."
+
+"Dear, dear," reiterated Mr. Barnstable. "It's a deplorable situation;
+deplorable and very awkward."
+
+"And the awkward part is, that we're a dead cock in the pit if we
+incline to virtue's side."
+
+Mr. Barnstable sighed deeply and drummed on his desk. Then he began to
+walk up and down. After a few moments he stopped short and said:
+
+"I shall have to lay it before my directors, Dowling."
+
+"Certainly, sir. But in general terms, I hope. A single—er—impractical
+man might block the situation until it was too late. Then the expense
+of remedying the blunder might be much greater."
+
+Mr. Barnstable inclined his head gravely. "I shall consult some of the
+wisest heads on the Board, and if in their opinion it is advisable to
+conciliate these blackmailers, a formal expression of approval will
+scarcely be necessary."
+
+A few days later the President sent for the Manager and waved him to
+a chair. His expression was grave—almost sad, yet resolute. His manner
+was dignified and cold.
+
+"We have considered," said he, "the matter of which we were speaking
+recently, and under the peculiar circumstances in which we are placed,
+and in view of the fact that the success of our bill and the defeat of
+the Underground Steam Company is necessary for the protection of the
+best interests of the public and the facilitation of honest corporate
+business enterprise, I am empowered to authorize you to take such steps,
+Mr. Dowling, as seem to you desirable and requisite for the proper
+protection of our interests."
+
+"Very good, sir. That is all that is necessary."
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Mr. Barnstable joined his
+finger-tips together and looked at the fire. Then he rose augustly,
+and putting out his hand with a repellant gesture said, "There is one
+thing I insist on, which is that I shall know nothing of the details
+of this disagreeable business. I leave the matter wholly in your hands,
+Dowling."
+
+"Oh, certainly, sir. And you may rely on my giving the cold shoulder to
+the rascals wherever it is possible for me to do so."
+
+That is a pitiful story, isn't it? Virtue assaulted almost in its very
+temple, and given a black eye by sheer force of cruel, overwhelming
+circumstances. Yet a true story, and the prototype in its general
+features of a host of similar episodes occurring in the different
+cities of this land of the free and the home of the brave. Each case,
+of course, has its peculiar atmosphere. Not every leading villain has
+the sensitive and combative conscience of Thomas Barnstable; nor every
+general manager the bold, frank style of Mr. Dowling. There is every
+phase of soul-struggle and method from unblushing, business-like bargain
+and sale to sphinx-like and purposely unenlightened and ostrich-like
+submission. In the piteous language of a defender of Thomas Barnstable
+(not Josephine), what can one do but submit? If one meets a highwayman
+on the road, is one to be turned back if a purse will secure a passage?
+Surely not if the journey be of moment. Then is a corporate body (a
+corporation has no soul) to be starved to death by delay and hostile
+legislation if peace and plenty are to be had for an attorney's fee?
+If so, only the rascals would thrive and honest corporations would bite
+the dust. And so it happened that Mr. Dowling before election cast his
+moral influence in favor of the big four, and a little bird flew from
+head-quarters with a secret message, couched in sufficiently vague
+language, to the effect that the management would be pleased if the
+employees of the People's Heat and Power Company were to mark crosses
+on their Australian ballots against the names of Peter Lynch, Jeremiah
+Dolan, Hon. William H. Bird, and the Hon. John P. Driscoll.
+
+Let us allow the curtain to descend to slow music, and after a brief
+pause rise on some of our other characters. Behold now the fifty
+thousand respectable, well-intentioned, tolerably ignorant citizens
+who vote but are too busy with their own affairs to pay attention
+to politics, and as a consequence generally vote the party ticket or
+vote to please a friend. As a sample take Mr. John Baker, amiable and
+well-meaning physician, a practical philanthropist and an intelligent
+student of science by virtue of his active daily professional
+labors. For a week before election he is apt to have a distressing,
+soul-haunting consciousness that a City Government is shortly to be
+chosen and that he must, as a free-born and virtue-loving citizen, vote
+for somebody. He remembers that during the year there has been more
+or less agitation in the newspapers concerning this or that individual
+connected with the aldermanic office, but he has forgotten names and is
+all at sea as to who is who or what is what. Two days before election
+he receives and puts aside a circular containing a list of the most
+desirable candidates, as indicated by the Reform Society, intending to
+peruse it, but he is called from home on one evening by professional
+demands, and on the other by tickets for the theatre, so election
+morning arrives without his having looked at it. He forgets that it is
+election day, and is reminded of the fact while on his way to visit
+his patients by noticing that many of his acquaintances seem to be
+walking in the wrong direction. He turns also, at the spur of memory,
+and mournfully realizes that he has left the list at home. To return
+would spoil his professional day, so he proceeds to the polls, and,
+in the hope of wise enlightenment, joins the first sagacious friend he
+encounters. It happens, perhaps, to be Dowling.
+
+"Ah," says Dr. Baker, genially, "you're just the man to tell me whom to
+vote for. One vote doesn't count for much, but I like to do my duty as
+an American citizen."
+
+"It's a pretty poor list," says Dowling, pathetically, drawing a paper
+from his pocket. "I believe, however, in accomplishing the best possible
+results under existing circumstances. If I thought the Reform candidates
+could be elected, I would vote for them and for them only; but it's
+equally important that the very worst men should be kept out. I am
+going to vote for the Reform candidates and for Lynch, Dolan, Bird, and
+Driscoll. They're capable and they have had experience. If they steal,
+they'll steal judiciously, and that is something. Some of those other
+fellows would steal the lamp-posts and hydrants if they got the chance."
+
+"All right," says Dr. Baker. "I'll take your word for it. Let me write
+those names down. I suppose that some day or other we shall get a decent
+City Government. I admit that I don't give as much consideration to such
+matters as I ought, but the days are only twenty-four hours long."
+
+Then from the same company there is Mr. David Jones, hay and grain
+dealer, honest and a diligent, reputable business man. He harbors the
+amiable delusion that the free-born American citizen in the exercise
+of the suffrage has intuitive knowledge as to whom to vote for, and
+that in the long run the choice of the sovereign people is wise and
+satisfactory. He is ready to admit that political considerations
+should not control selection for municipal office, but he has a latent
+distrust of reformers as aristocratic self-seekers or enemies of popular
+government. For instance, the idea that he or any other American citizen
+of ordinary education and good moral character is not fit to serve on
+the school committee offends his patriotism.
+
+"What's the matter with Lynch, anyway?" he asks on his way to the polls.
+"I see some of his political enemies are attacking him in the press.
+If he were crooked, someone would have found it out in ten years. I met
+him once and he talked well. He has no frills round his neck."
+
+"Nor wheels in his head," answers a fellow-patriot, who wishes to get
+a street developed and has put his case in Lynch's hands.
+
+"He shall have my vote," says the hay and grain dealer.
+
+As for the twenty-five thousand hide-bound partisans, I will state
+to begin with, my optimistic correspondent, that if this drama were
+concerned with any election but a city election, their number would
+be larger. But these make up in unswerving fixity of purpose for any
+diminution of their forces due to municipal considerations. They are
+content to have their thinking done for them in advance by a packed
+caucus, and they go to the polls snorting like war-horses and eager to
+vindicate by their ballots the party choice of candidates, or meekly
+and reverently prepared to make a criss-cross after every R or D,
+according to their faith, with the fatuous fealty of sheep. Bigotry and
+suspicions, ignorance and easy-going willingness to be led, keep their
+phalanx steady and a constant old guard for the protection of comedians
+and villains.
+
+In another corner of the stage stand the ten thousand superior,
+self-centred souls who neglect to vote and despise politics—the
+mixed corps of pessimists, impractical dreamers, careless idlers,
+and hyper-cultured world-disdainers, who hold aloof, from one
+motive or another, from contact with common life and a share in its
+responsibilities—some on the plea that universal suffrage is a folly
+or a failure, some that earth is but a vale of travail which concerns
+little the wise or righteous thinker, some from sheer butterfly or
+stupid idleness. Were they to vote they would help to offset that no
+less large body of suffragists—the active enemies of order, the hoodlum,
+tobacco-spitting, woman-insulting, rum-drinking ruffian brigade. There
+are only left the ten thousand conscientious citizens, real patriots—a
+corporal's guard, amid the general optimistic sweep toward the polls.
+These mark their crosses with care against the names of the honest men
+and perhaps some of the pretty honest, only to read in the newspapers
+next morning that the big four have been returned to power and that
+the confidence of the plain and sovereign people in the disinterested
+conduct of their public servants has again been demonstrated.
+
+"Ho, ho, ho," laugh the low comedians. "Mum's the word." The faces of
+the big four are wreathed in self-congratulatory smiles. At the homes of
+Peter Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan, those experienced individuals without
+occupation, there are cakes and ale. It is a mistake to assume that
+because a citizen is an Alderman he is not human and amiably domestic
+in his tastes. Jeremiah loves the little Dolans and is no less fond of
+riding his children on his leg than Thomas Barnstable, or any of the
+leading villains. When their father looks happy in the late autumn, the
+children know that their Christmas stockings will be full. Jeremiah
+is at peace with all the world and is ready to sit with slicked hair
+for his photograph, from which a steel (or is it steal?) engraving
+will shortly be prepared for the new City Government year-book,
+superscribed: "Jeremiah Dolan, Chairman of the Board of Aldermen." A
+framed enlargement of this will hang on one side of the fire-place,
+and an embroidered motto, "God Bless Our Home," on the other, and all
+will be well with the Dolans for another twelve months. In his own home
+Jeremiah is a man of few words on public matters. Not unnaturally his
+children believe him to be of the salt of the earth, and he lets it
+go at that, attending strictly to business without seeking to defend
+himself in the bosom of his family from the diatribes of reformers.
+Still, it is reasonable to assume that, under the fillip of the large
+majority rolled up in his favor, he would be liable to give vent to
+his sense of humor so far as to refer, in the presence of his wife and
+children, to the young man who was willing to become an Alderman while
+waiting to be Senator, as a T. Willy.
+
+If you have read "The Hon. Peter Stirling," you will remember that
+the hero rose to political stature largely by means of attending to
+the needs of the district, befriending the poor and the helpless, and
+having a friendly, encouraging word for his constituents, high or low.
+The American public welcomed the book because it was glad to see the
+boss vindicated by these human qualities, and to think that there was
+a saving grace of unselfish service in the composition of the average
+successful politician. It would be unjust to the big four were I not
+to acknowledge that they have been shrewd or human enough to pursue
+in some measure this affable policy, and that the neighborhood and the
+district in which they live recognize them as hustlers to obtain office,
+privileges, and jobs for the humble citizen wishing to be employed by
+or to sell something to the City Government. To this constituency the
+comparative small tax levied seems all in the day's work, a natural
+incident of the principle that when a man does something, he ought to
+be paid for it. To them the distinction that public service is a trust
+which has no right to pecuniary profit beyond the salary attached, and a
+reasonable amount of stationery, seems to savor of the millennium and to
+suggest a lack of practical intelligence on the part of its advocates.
+They pay the lawyer and the doctor; why not the Alderman?
+
+
+III
+
+I am reminded by Josephine that I seem to be getting into the dumps,
+which does not befit one who claims to be an optimistic philosopher.
+The drama just set before you is not, I admit, encouraging as a national
+exhibit, and I can imagine that you are already impatient to retort that
+the municipal stage is no fair criterion of public life in this country.
+I can hear you assert, with that confident air of national righteousness
+peculiar to the class of blind patriots to which you belong, that the
+leading politicians of the nation disdain to soil their hands by contact
+with city politics. Yet there I take issue with you squarely, not as to
+the fact but as to the truth of the lofty postulate seething in your
+mind that the higher planes of political activity are free from the
+venal and debasing characteristics of municipal public service—from
+the influence of the money power operating on a low public standard of
+honesty.
+
+Most of us—even philosophers like myself—try to cling to the fine theory
+that the legislators of the country represent the best morals and brains
+of the community, and that the men elected to public office in the
+Councils of the land have been put forward as being peculiarly fitted
+to interpret and provide for our needs, by force of their predominant
+individual virtues and abilities. Most of us appreciate in our secret
+souls that this theory is not lived up to, and is available only for
+Fourth of July or other rhetorical purposes. Yet we dislike to dismiss
+the ideal as unattainable, even though we know that actual practice
+is remote from it; and patriots still, we go on asserting that this
+is our method of choice, vaguely hoping, like the well-intentioned
+but careless voter, that some day we shall get a decent government,
+municipal, state, national—that is decent from the stand-point of
+our democratic ideal. And there is another theory, part and parcel of
+the other, which we try to cling to at the same time, that our public
+representatives, though the obviously ornamental and fine specimens of
+their several constituencies, are after all only every-day Americans
+with whom a host of citizens could change places without disparagement
+to either. In other words, our theory of government is government by the
+average, and that the average is remarkably high. This comfortable view
+induces many like yourself to wrap themselves round with the American
+flag and smile at destiny, sure that everything will result well with
+us sooner or later, and impatient of criticism or doubts. As a people
+we delight in patting ourselves on the back and dismissing our worries
+as mere flea-bites. The hard cider of our patriotism gets readily into
+the brain and causes us to deny fiercely or serenely, according to our
+dispositions, that anything serious is the matter.
+
+Yet whatever Fourth of July orators may say to the contrary, the fact
+remains that the sorry taint of bargain and sale, of holding up on the
+political highway and pacification by bribery in one form or another,
+permeates to-day the whole of our political system from the lowest
+stratum of municipal public life to the Councils which make Presidents
+and United States Senators. To be sure, the Alderman in his capacity of
+low comedian dictating terms to corporations seeking civic privileges
+is the most unblushing, and hence the most obviously flagrant case;
+but it is well recognized by all who are brought in contact with
+legislative bodies of any sort in the country that either directly or
+indirectly the machinery of public life is controlled by aggregations
+of capital working on the hungry, easy-going, or readily flattered
+susceptibilities of a considerable percentage of the members. Certainly
+our national and State assemblies contain many high-minded, honest,
+intellectually capable men, but they contain as many more who are
+either dishonest or are so ignorant and easily cajoled that they permit
+themselves to be the tools of leading villains. Those cognizant of what
+goes on behind the scenes on the political stage would perhaps deny
+that such men as our friend Thomas Barnstable or his agent, Dowling,
+attempt to dictate nominations to either branch of the legislature on
+the tacit understanding that a member thus supported is to advocate
+or vote for their measures, and by their denial they might deceive
+a real simon-pure philosopher. But this philosopher knows better,
+and so do you, my optimistic friend. It is the fashion, I am aware,
+among conservative people, lawyers looking for employment, bankers
+and solid men of affairs, to put the finger on the lips when this evil
+is broached and whisper, "Hush!" They admit confidentially the truth
+of it, but they say, "Hush! What's the use of stirring things up? It
+can't do any good and it makes the public discontented. It excites the
+populists." So there is perpetual mystery and the game goes on. Men who
+wish things good or bad come reluctantly or willingly to the conclusion
+that the only way to get them is by paying for them. Not all pay cash.
+Some obtain that which they desire by working on the weaknesses of
+legislators; following them into banks where they borrow money, getting
+people who hold them in their employ or give them business to interfere,
+asking influential friends to press them. Every railroad corporation in
+the country has agents to look after its affairs before the legislature
+of the State through which it operates, and what some of those agents
+have said and done in order to avert molestation would, if published,
+be among the most interesting memoirs ever written. Who doubts that
+elections to the United States Senate and House of Representatives are
+constantly secured by the use of money among those who have the power
+to bestow nominations and influence votes? It is notorious, yet to
+prove it would be no less difficult than to prove that Peter Lynch,
+Alderman for ten years without occupation, has received bribes from
+his fellow-citizens. How are the vast sums of money levied on rich men
+to secure the success of a political party in a Presidential campaign
+expended? For stationery, postage stamps, and campaign documents? For
+torchlight processions, rallies, and buttons? Some of it, certainly.
+The unwritten inside history of the political progress of many of the
+favorite sons of the nation during the last forty years would make the
+scale of public honor kick the beam though it were weighted with the
+cherry-tree and hatchet of George Washington. In one of our cities where
+a deputation of city officials attended the funeral of a hero of the
+late war with Spain, there is a record of $400 spent for ice-cream.
+Presumably this was a transcript of petty thievery inartistically
+audited. But there are no auditings of the real use of the thousands of
+dollars contributed to keep a party in power or to secure the triumph
+of a politically ambitious millionaire.
+
+     (_Note._—Josephine, who had been sitting lost in thought since
+     the conclusion of the drama, and who is fond of problem plays,
+     inquired at this point whether I consider the low comedians
+     or the leading villains the most to blame for the existing
+     state of things.
+
+     "It is a pertinent question, Josephine, and one not easily
+     answered. What is your view of the matter?"
+
+     "I suppose," she answered, "as you have termed the bribers
+     the leading villains, they are the worst. And I do think
+     that the temptation must be very great among the class of men
+     who are without fine sensibilities to let themselves become
+     the tools of rich and powerful people, who, as you have
+     indicated, can help them immensely in return for a vote. It
+     is astonishing that those in the community who are educated,
+     well-to-do citizens, should commit such sins against decency
+     and patriotism."
+
+     "Yes, it seems astonishing, but their plea is pathetic, as
+     I have already stated, and somewhat plausible. Suppose for a
+     minute that I am Thomas Barnstable defending himself and see
+     how eloquent I can be. 'What would you have me do, Madam? I
+     am an honest man and my directors are honest men; the bills
+     we ask for are always just and reasonable. I have never in my
+     life approached a legislator with an improper offer, nor have
+     I used direct or indirect bribery so long as it was absolutely
+     impossible to avoid doing so. But when a gang of cheap and
+     cunning tricksters block the passage of my corporation's
+     measures, and will not let them become law until we have
+     been bled, I yield as a last resort. We are at their mercy.
+     It is a detestable thing to do, I admit, but it is necessary
+     if we are to remain in business. There is no alternative.
+     The responsibility is on the dishonest and incapable men
+     whom the American public elects to office, and who under the
+     specious plea of protecting the rights of the plain people
+     levy blackmail on corporate interests. Corporations do not
+     wish to bribe, but they are forced to do so in self-defence.'
+     There! Is not that a tear-compelling statement?"
+
+     "I can see your side," said Josephine.
+
+     "Pardon me," I interrupted. "It is Mr. Barnstable's side, not
+     mine. I am not a capitalist, only a philosopher."
+
+     "Well, his side then; and I feel sorry for him in spite of the
+     weakness of his case. Only his argument does not explain the
+     others. I should not suppose that men like Mr. Prendergast
+     could truthfully declare that all the legislation they ask
+     for is just and reasonable."
+
+     "Precisely. Yet they buy their desires in the open market from
+     the free-born representatives of the people. If anyone states
+     so at the time he is hushed up, if possible; if not, there is
+     an investigation, nothing is proved, and the integrity of the
+     legislative body is vindicated. I can shed a tear on behalf of
+     men like Mr. Barnstable, a crocodile tear, yet still a tear.
+     But there is the larger army of hard-headed, dollar-hunting,
+     practical capitalists, who are not forming corporations for
+     their health, so to speak, to be reckoned with. My eloquence
+     is palsied by them. They would tell you that they were obliged
+     to bribe, but they do not waste much time in resistance or
+     remorse. They seem to regard the evil as a national custom,
+     unfortunate and expensive, but not altogether inconvenient.
+     Confidentially over a cigar they will assure you that the
+     French, the Spanish, the Turks, and the Chinese are infinitely
+     worse, and that this is merely a passing phase of democracy,
+     whatever that may mean."
+
+     "Dreadful," said Josephine. "And then there are the people
+     with money who aid and abet their own nominations for
+     Congress. I think I could mention some of them."
+
+     "Well, you mustn't. It might hurt their feelings, for they
+     may not know exactly what was done except in a general way.
+     After all is over they ask 'how much?' draw a check and make
+     few inquiries. That is the genteel way. But in some states it
+     is not necessary or politic to be genteel. The principle is
+     the same, but the process is less subtle and aristocratic. But
+     haven't you a word of extenuation to offer on behalf of the
+     low comedians? Think of Jeremiah Dolan and the little Dolans."
+
+     "I suppose he also would say it wasn't true," said Josephine.
+
+     "Oh, yes. 'Lady, there isn't a word of truth in the whole
+     story. Someone's been stuffing you.'"
+
+     "They must be dreadfully tempted, poor wretches."
+
+     "'Lady, it's all make-believe. But it's one thing to talk and
+     another to sit still and have a fellow whisper in your ear
+     that you have only to vote his way to get five thousand in
+     clean bills and no questions asked. When a man has a mortgage
+     on his house to pay, five thousand would come in handy. I'm
+     only supposing, lady, and no one can prove I took a cent.'"
+
+     "Fred," said Josephine, after a solemn pause, "the dreadful
+     thought has just occurred to me that the American people may
+     not be—are not strictly honest."
+
+     "Sh!" I shouted eagerly, and seizing a tea table-cloth I threw
+     it over her head and stayed her speech.
+
+     "My dear, do you realize what you are saying?"
+
+     "Do you realize that you are tumbling my hair?"
+
+     I paid no heed to this unimportant interjection, but said,
+     "If any true patriot were to hear you make such an accusation
+     you would subject yourself and me to some dreadful punishment,
+     such as happened to Dreyfus, or 'The Man Without a Country.'
+     Not honest? By the shades of George Washington, what are you
+     thinking of? Why, one of the chief reasons of our superiority
+     to all the other nations of the world is because of our
+     honesty—our immunity from the low moral standards of effete,
+     frivolous despotisms and unenlightened masses who are without
+     the blessings of freedom. Not strictly honest? Josephine, your
+     lack of tact, if nothing else, is positively audacious. Do you
+     expect me to break this cruel piece of news to the optimistic
+     patriot to whom this letter is addressed?"
+
+     "I think you are silly," said my wife, freeing herself from
+     the tea table-cloth and trying to compose her slightly
+     discomposed tresses. "I only thought aloud, and I said
+     merely what you would have said sooner or later in more
+     philosophical terms. I saw that you were tempted by the fear
+     of not seeming a patriot to dilly-dally with the situation and
+     avoid expressing yourself in perspicuous language. T-h-i-e-f
+     spells thief; B-r-i-b-e-r-y spells bribery. I don't know much
+     about politics, and I'm not a philosopher, but I understand
+     the meaning of every-day English, and I should say that we
+     were not even pretty honest. There! Those are my opinions,
+     and I think you will save time if you send them in your
+     letter instead of beating about the bush for extenuating
+     circumstances. If you don't, I shall—for really, Fred, it's
+     too simple a proposition. And as for the blame, it's six of
+     one and half a dozen of the other."
+
+     "Josephine, Josephine," I murmured, "there goes my last
+     chance of being sent to the Philippines, in my capacity as a
+     philosopher, to study whether the people of those islands are
+     fit for representative government.")
+
+You have read what Josephine says, my optimistic friend. She has stated
+that she would write to you her summing up of the whole matter if I did
+not, so I have inserted her deduction in all its crudity. She declares
+the trouble to be that the American people are dishonest. Of course, I
+cannot expect you to agree with any such conclusion, and I must admit
+that the boldness of the accusation is a shock to my own sensibilities
+as a patriot. Of course, Josephine is a woman and does not understand
+much about politics and ways and means, and it is notorious that women
+jump at conclusions instead of approaching them logically and in a
+dignified manner. But it is also said that their sudden conclusions
+are apt to be right. Dishonest? Dear me, what a dreadful suggestion.
+I really think that she went a little too far. And yet I am forced to
+agree that appearances are very much against us, and that if we hope
+to lead the world in righteousness and progress we must, to recur
+to political phraseology, mend our moral fences. I do not indulge in
+meteoric flights, like Josephine. Let us argue the matter out soberly.
+
+You and I, as men of the world, will agree that if the American people
+prefer or find it more serviceable to cherish bribery as a federal
+institution, no one will interfere. The fact that it is ethically wrong
+is interesting to real philosophers and to the clergy, but bribery will
+continue to flourish like a bay-tree if it is the sort of thing which
+the American people like. Now, to all outward appearances they find
+it, if not grateful and comforting, at least endurable and convenient.
+Certainly, except among the class of people whom you would be apt
+to stigmatize as "holier than thous," there is comparatively little
+interest taken in the question. The mass of the community seek refuge
+behind the agreeable fiction that the abuse doesn't exist or exists
+only in such degree as to be unimportant. Many of these people know
+that this is false, but they will not admit that they think so in order
+not to make such doings familiar, just as their custom is to speak of
+legs as lower limbs in order not to bring a blush to the cheek of the
+young person. For thorough-going hypocrisy—often unconscious, but still
+hypocrisy—no one can equal a certain kind of American. It is so much
+easier in this world, where patting on the back is the touch-stone of
+preferment and popularity, to think that everything is as serene as the
+surface indicates, though you are secretly sure that it is not. How much
+more convenient to be able to say truthfully, "I have no knowledge of
+the facts, so don't bother me," than to be constantly wagging the head
+and entertaining doubts concerning the purity of one's fellow-citizens,
+and so making enemies.
+
+As I have indicated earlier in this letter, the ideal is dear to our
+patriotic sensibilities that we are governed by average opinion, and
+that the average is peculiarly high. The fastidious citizen in this
+country has been and still is fond of the taunt that men of upright
+character and fine instincts—what he calls gentlemen—will not enter
+public life, for the reason that they will not eat dirt. The reply has
+been that the real bugaboo of the fastidious citizen is one of manners,
+and that in the essentials of character, in strong moral purpose and
+solid worth, the average American voter is the peer of any aristocracy.
+The issue becomes really one of fact, and mere solemn assertion will
+not serve as evidence beyond a certain point. If the majority prefer
+dishonesty, the power is in their hands to perpetuate the system, but
+believing as you and I do that the majority at heart is honest, how
+are we to explain the continued existence of the evil? How as patriots
+shall we reconcile the perpetuation in power of the low comedians, Peter
+Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan, except on the theory that it is the will of
+the majority that they should continue to serve the people? This is
+not a question of kid gloves, swallow-tailed coats, and manners, but
+an indictment reflecting on the moral character and solid worth of the
+nation. How are we to explain it? What are we to say? Can we continue
+to declare that we are the most honest and aspiring people in the world
+and expect that portion of the world which has any sense of humor not
+to smile? Are we, who have been accustomed to boast of our spotless
+integrity as a people, ready to fall back on and console ourselves with
+the boast, which does duty nowadays on lenient lips, that we are as
+honest as any of the nations of Europe except, possibly, England? That
+is an indirect form of patriotic negation under the shadow of which
+low comedians and leading villains could ply their trade comparatively
+unmolested.
+
+As a philosopher, who is not a real philosopher, I find this charge of
+Josephine's a difficult nut to crack, and I commend it respectfully
+to your attention to mull over at your leisure, trusting that it may
+temper the effulgence of your thoughts on Independence Day. Yet having
+had my say as a philosopher, let me as an optimist, willing to succor a
+fellow-optimist, add a few considerations indicating that the situation
+may not be so ultimately evil as the existing state of affairs and
+Josephine would have us believe. I write "may not be," because I am not
+altogether confident that my intelligence is not being cajoled by the
+natural cheeriness and buoyancy of my disposition. The sole question at
+issue is whether the majority of the American people are really content
+to have the money power of the country prey upon and be the prey of the
+lowest moral sense of the community.
+
+We have before us an every-day spectacle of eager aggregations of
+capital putting aside scruples as visionary and impractical, and hence
+"un-American," in order to compass success, and at the other side of
+the counter the so-called representatives of the people, solemn in their
+verbiage but susceptible to occult and disgraceful influences. The two
+parties to the intercourse are discreet and businesslike, and there
+is little risk of tangible disclosure. Practically aloof from them,
+except for a few moments on election day, stands the mass of American
+citizens busy with their own money-getting or problem-solving, and only
+too ready to believe that their representatives are admirable. They
+pause to vote as they pause to snatch a sandwich at a railroad station.
+"Five minutes for refreshments!" Five minutes for political obligations!
+Individually there are thousands of strictly honest and noble-hearted
+men in the United States. Who doubts it? The originality and strength
+of the American character is being constantly manifested in every field
+of life. But there we speak of individuals; here we are concerned with
+majorities and the question of average morality and choice. For though
+we have an aspiring and enlightened van of citizens to point the way,
+you must remember that emigration and natural growth has given us
+tens of thousands of ignorant, prejudiced, and sometimes unscrupulous
+citizens, each of whose votes counts one. Perhaps it is true—and here is
+my grain of consolation or hope—that the average voter is so easy-going,
+so long-suffering, so indisposed to find fault, so selfishly busy with
+his own affairs, so proud of our institutions and himself, so afraid
+of hurting other people's feelings, and so generally indifferent as to
+public matters, provided his own are serene, that he chooses to wink at
+bribery if it be not in plain view, and likes to deceive himself into
+believing that there is nothing wrong. The long and short of it seems
+to be that the average American citizen is a good fellow, and in his
+capacity of good fellow cannot afford to be too critical and particular.
+He leaves that to the reformer, the literary man, the dude, the college
+professor, the mugwump, the philosopher, and other impractical and
+un-American people. If so, what has become of that heritage of his
+forefathers, the stern Puritan conscience? Swept away in the great
+wave of material progress which has centred all his energies on what
+he calls success, and given to the power of money a luring importance
+which is apt to make the scruples of the spirit seem unsubstantial and
+bothersome. An easy-going, trouble-detesting, self-absorbed democracy
+between the buffers of rapacity and rascality.
+
+A disagreeable conclusion for an optimist, yet less gloomy than the
+other alternative. This condition admits of cure, for it suggests a
+torpid conscience rather than deliberate acquiescence. It indicates that
+the representatives are betraying the people, and that there is room for
+hope that the people eventually may rise in their might and call them to
+account. If they do, I beg as a philosopher with humorous proclivities,
+to caution them against seizing the wrong pig by the ear. Let them fix
+the blame where it belongs, and not hold the corporations and the money
+power wholly responsible. It may be possible in time to abolish trusts
+and cause rich men sleepless nights in the crusading name of populism,
+but that will avail little unless at the same time they go to the real
+root of the matter, and quicken the average conscience and strengthen
+the moral purpose of the plain people of the United States. There will
+be leading villains and low comedians so long as society permits, and
+so long as the conscience of democracy is torpid. The players in the
+drama are, after all, only the people themselves. Charles the First was
+beheaded because he betrayed the liberties of the people. Alas! there
+is no such remedy for a corrupt democracy, for its heads are like those
+of Hydra, and it would be itself both the victim and the executioner.
+
+
+
+
+THE POINT OF VIEW
+
+
+[Sidenote: A Question of Accent.]
+
+I suppose there is no gainsaying the authority of "general usage" in the
+matter of English pronunciation—even when that usage is etymologically
+wrong. If there is one instinct in the Anglo-Saxon race which is at
+once widespread and admirable, it is surely our instinct to avoid even
+the semblance of preciosity; the Prig is justly our pet abhorrence.
+Maybe some of us incline to carry this instinct a thought too far; as,
+for instance, the educated English lady who, when taken to task by an
+American for saying _sónorous_, replied: "We always say _sónorous_; of
+course we know well enough that it really is _sonórous_, but it would
+sound awfully priggish to say so in every-day talk!" But she was an
+extreme example, and, though I still persist in saying _sonórous_,
+I am far from wishing to undo the long-done work of that "general
+usage" which has given us _bálcony_ (for _balcóny_) and _anémone_ (for
+_anemóne_). About _paresis_ I may be in some doubt, for the word is so
+young in general use that there may still be time to check the spread
+of the illiterate _parésis_. The latter pronunciation does not seem
+to me to have been consecrated by sufficiently long usage to have won
+indisputable authority; there may be a chance for _páresis_ yet!
+
+There are, however, many words in our language, derived from the Latin,
+on the accentuation of which both authority and usage are still divided;
+and I cannot think the time past for etymology fairly having something
+to say about these. Yet it seems to me that the etymological rule for
+accenting such words, as it is commonly set down, leaves a good deal to
+be desired in point of logic. It is that syllables which are long by
+derivation should be accented, that those which are short should not;
+and by it we get _compénsate_, _contémplate_, etc.; but a large number
+of recognizedly educated people say _cómpensate_ and _cóntemplate_, and
+also have the authority of some excellent lexicographers therefore. What
+authority there may be for throwing the accent upon the penult in these
+words cannot yet be considered as final.
+
+A word which leads me to an explanation of my idea is _elegiac_—which
+the Standard Dictionary now gives as _elégiac_ only, but which used
+to be pronounced _elegíac_ by most cultivated English speakers. It
+is rather a scholarly word, and I fancy most scholars to-day still
+pronounce it _elegíac_; it seems to me that there still hangs about
+_elégiac_, as Walker said in his day, a "suspicion of illiteracy."
+But, if _elegíac_ is right, why is it right? The rule for accenting
+syllables that are long by etymology does not hold good here, for the
+_i_ in _elegiācus_ is short, as it is also in the Greek _elegiakós_.
+It seems to me so highly probable as to amount almost to a certainty,
+that scholarly Englishmen fell into the habit of saying _elegíac_ simply
+because they had already formed the habit of saying _elegiācus_. They
+accented the _i_ in English because it was accented in Latin; and in
+Latin it is accented, not because it is long (which it is not), but
+because the _a_ which follows it is short. And, if English scholars
+said _elegíac_ from habit, may not the results of a similar Latin habit
+be found in our pronunciation of hosts of other English words of Latin
+origin?
+
+The rule for accentuation I would propose is this: "If the syllable
+which is penultimate in the English word is accented in the Latin, it
+should be accented in the English word also; if, however, this syllable
+is unaccented in Latin, the accent in the English word should fall
+back upon the antepenult." Thus the penultimate _i_ in _elegiac_ is
+accented because the corresponding _i_ is accented in _elegíacus_. An
+old school-master of mine used to insist upon our saying _Quirínal_,
+because the _i_ was long; I maintain that _Quírinal_ is right, because
+the second _i_ in _Quirinālis_ is unaccented. This rule would give us
+_cóntemplate_ and _cómpensate_ because the syllables _tem_ and _pen_
+are unaccented in _contemplātus_ and _compensātus_ respectively. (It
+is of no avail to argue in favor of _contémplate_ that the _tem_ is
+long, and accented in _contémplo_; our English word is derived from the
+Latin participle, not from the first person singular of the present
+indicative.) _Désiccate_ would be right on the same principle, and
+_desíccate_, wrong.
+
+By this rule of mine we can preserve an English pronunciation as nearly
+like the original Latin as it is in the spirit of our language to do;
+and, where authority and usage are wellnigh equally divided, this seems
+to me worth while.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIELD OF ART
+
+_THE USE AND ABUSE OF DECORATIVE CONVENTIONS IN ARCHITECTURE_
+
+
+It is always more or less futile to quarrel with the vernacular.
+Otherwise we should take exception to the word _design_ in the sense of
+invention. The latter is the more expressive term. In the language of
+those nations from which modern art is derived, _dessiner_, _disegnare_
+mean to draw. Italian authors of the Renaissance, in estimating an
+artist's achievement, invariably weighed his inventive faculties. Thus
+Vasari, in summarizing Raphael's qualities, extols his "_disegno,
+colorito ed invenzione_"—his drawing, color, and invention. An
+illustrator "invents" and "draws;" for instance, "Giovanni Albertelli
+_inv. e dis._" Emphasis is here laid on the word invention, and on its
+vogue in other lands, both because it is very forceful, and because it
+seems to imply something more than "design." A plagiarist might venture
+to risk the term "design" when he would balk at "invention."
+
+If we enter one of our patrician homes—palaces, palazzi, or private
+hotels, they would be called elsewhere—what do we find to exalt the
+decorative artist, where the work has been the sole product of the
+architect, and it may be added of the patrician himself? Much splendor
+there is, assuredly, and gold, and rich carving, and sumptuous
+marble, and opulent stuffs; even expatriated mantles and whole rooms,
+kidnapped from the harmonious surroundings where they were a perpetual
+joy—imported to discord with our modern alien habitats. Sometimes
+we happen on an Italian Renaissance room without a spark of the
+easy invention and graceful free-hand work that was the charm of the
+original; but more frequently we meet with debased Louis XV. and Louis
+XVI., debased in the inspirationless copy. The originals of these things
+are very beautiful indeed, and will ever be the immortal models for
+decorative artists. But it must not for a moment be supposed by the
+laity that in mechanically reproducing these things we are inventing
+or adding an iota to the art product of the world. Perhaps this lack
+of invention can better be appreciated when the bald statement is made
+that a well-equipped decorator would not think it worth his while to
+enter our buildings for the purpose of studying fresh ideas; always
+excepting those instances where the services of a capable artist have
+been engaged, and the few exceptions to every rule.
+
+Archæology has taught its lesson of accuracy in the arts. As we have
+already observed, the tendency is to copy rather than to assimilate.
+The reproductive processes have overwhelmed the practitioner with an
+excess of material, far more than can be digested. We have acquired
+the photograph habit. Could half the time be devoted to invention that
+is given to the excavation from portfolios of the desired prototypes,
+and to the formation of collections, it would be better for art. We
+have repeatedly anathematized the vast aggregation of photographs so
+cheaply and easily obtained. Were they to perish from the earth, design
+would take a great leap forward—for their abuse is almost inevitable.
+The mere power of limning is compromised by an over-reliance on them.
+Constant reference, even to an original study from nature, clogs the
+creative faculty, and hampers the impatient hand, much more so, an
+alien reproduction. Once a distinguished artist lost all his preliminary
+studies for a picture when his house was ransacked by the Prussians. "I
+am glad of it," he said, "for now I feel emancipated and can work with
+greater freedom." It must always be borne in mind that the best designs
+were made before the invention of the reproductive processes, and the
+exactions of precise archæology. It is safe here to use the word "best,"
+because the constant copying of them is an admission of their primacy.
+It must not be supposed that the Renaissance man was more virtuous than
+we are. Probably he was less so. He stole things wherever he could lay
+his hands on them. Fortunately, there was less to steal in quality
+and quantity. Nor had he acquired the lesson of accuracy. Even the
+engraver, when he tried to counterfeit, let us say an "Albert Dürer,"
+did it rather clumsily. If an artist wished to reproduce another's work
+for self-instruction, he rendered it very freely, infusing a good deal
+of his own personality into the copy, unconsciously, without doubt.
+From our point of view this copy was pitiable as an imitation. For his
+purpose, it was just as good as the closer reproduction, even better.
+Giuliano Sangallo's drawing from the antique would make schoolboys
+merry, while both they and their preceptors admire the creations which
+these somewhat clumsy sketches evoked. One of the fragments of the lost
+"Battle of Anghiari," by Leonardo, comes to us through the exuberant
+handling of Rubens, the freest sort of a translation, as were all his
+Italian notes. Raphael, painter-architect, makes a pen and ink from the
+"Three Graces at Sienna," after graduating from the school of Perugino
+(we follow Müntz). From the photographic standpoint the humblest in a
+well-conducted antique class could do better. But these men, and hosts
+of others, _invented_—some painters, some sculptors, some architects,
+perhaps the two or three in one. Take, for instance, that much used and
+very popular member, the capital, a magnificent vehicle for decorative
+expression. Observe Sangallo's in the Palazzo Gondi, Stagio-Stagi's at
+Pisa, or those in the Palazzo dei Pazzi. But why specify these, when
+beautiful examples swarm in Bologna, Ferrara, Urbino, and all over
+northern Italy, full of lovely ideas and graceful in contour, capitals
+evolved from the antique in a general way, and quite equal to them for
+pure beauty, and surpassing them in fancy? We are prone to denounce the
+"barocco" work. Eliminating for the nonce the question of taste, let us
+glance at it from the inventive point of view. We have seen compositions
+by the much abused painter-architect, Vasari, evidently turned out with
+perfect facility, that would tax the creative faculty of a modern almost
+to despair. The Zuccari Brothers, Poccetti, and men of that generation,
+at times did things in shocking taste, but at times they composed very
+beautifully and were always interesting, flinging broadcast fresh ideas.
+We may not like a frame, or an arm-chair by a barocco Brustolon, yet
+we must admire his fluent design. Thanks to passionless imitations,
+the uninitiated are prone to associate nothing but dry formality with
+such names as Vignola or Palladio. Let them see the villas by these
+architects in the neighborhood of Rome or Vicenza, and they will soon
+be disabused of any such impressions.
+
+It is high time that the architect should declare himself an artist
+by a display of the artistic qualities, an important one being the
+invention of ornamental motives. He should differentiate himself from
+the engineer. But as matters now stand, finding himself unable to
+evolve fresh decorative forms either from lack of time or faculty, he
+has recourse to his library, and cribs or re-distributes decorative
+conventions, more or less trite, according to the date of the print or
+photograph, with the well known result. These aids are also within the
+reach of the engineer, or even the "builder," pure and simple. With a
+very little study, either might learn to handle them adroitly. So that
+if the architect wishes to occupy an impregnable position, he must
+fortify it with artistic accomplishments.
+
+That somewhat negative quality, jejune good taste, a sparse use of the
+very well known and approved decorative forms, has its charm. It is a
+perfectly safe policy for an architect to pursue. In the face of much
+tawdry stuff, one craves it—the mere hungry surface, relieved here
+and there by the authorized classic motives. But this cold chasteness
+is as much a moral as an artistic idea. It means æsthetic sterility,
+petrified decoration. A living art connotes invention. The same is true
+of the dictum that a good copy is better than a bad original. Perhaps
+it is; but no artistic progress can be made under such a tenet, and
+the beautiful prototype deteriorates in reproduction, and loses the
+inspiration in its frequency.
+
+Be it understood that the question of decorative instruction is not
+under discussion. More tenaciously, perhaps, than others, we hold
+that the student must know the historical conventions, his grammar of
+ornament, just as a writer must know his alphabet, not in order to use
+them subsequently, but to profit by their lessons. What concerns us now
+is the golden mean between the use and abuse of accredited conventions.
+Certain simple decorative motives, such as dentils, egg and darts,
+pearls, frets, etc., have become part and parcel of our decorative
+conceptions. They are valuable accessories, almost as essential to
+artistic syntax as the unimportant, yet necessary, conjunction is to
+rhetorical syntax. In literary composition no objection can be made
+to a timely quotation as an auxiliary to the subject-matter, but very
+serious objection would be made were citations forced to do the author's
+work vicariously. It is only when architects make their conventions
+bear the sole brunt of ornamentation and call it "art" that complaint
+is made. Did we not constitutionally object to the thoughtless use of
+the superlative so much in vogue, especially when æsthetic themes are
+under discussion, we should say that in the use of classic conventions,
+the discretion and taste of the della Robbia were very nearly supreme.
+The founder of the clan, Andrea, was, perhaps, less influenced by the
+antique than any decorative artist of his time; still he was influenced
+by it, as every Italian of his date must have been. Take one of his
+famous _tondi_ as an example. The expressional picture is in the centre,
+architecturally framed as it should be by a fillet or two, or an egg
+and dart, perhaps, confining a decorative border of great beauty,
+inspired by the fruits of the earth, largely treated. Here we have a
+composition firmly framed, well suited to structural needs, sufficiently
+architectural, yet immensely interesting. This is the very acme of
+decorative excellence.
+
+Archæology and chance have recently conferred one benefit, not to
+mention others, for which we must be truly grateful. They have clearly
+demonstrated the inventive faculties of the ancients. They have proved
+to us that the architects and decorators of classic times were always
+doing what artists will ever do—the unexpected. Familiar with the
+reproductions of certain consecrated monuments, students have been
+too prone to believe that the art of the Greeks and Romans was highly
+conventionalized; that it moved in very narrow and prescribed channels.
+The rendering of these monuments in the authoritative works has
+aggravated the belief. Actually, the ancients worked with great freedom,
+doing what we should never look for. Suppose it had been required to
+"restore" a Livia's villa, not knowing the original, would it ever have
+entered the restorer's head to paint a freehand landscape on its walls?
+Suppose the task was to make a patera _à l'antique_, would it ever
+have occurred to the designer to plant a portrait head in its centre
+with a meagre line or two about it? Yet just such a patera was found at
+Bosco Reale a few years since. The problem being to build a Roman arch,
+who would ever have dreamed of constructing such an one as we find at
+Timgad, dedicated to Trajan, with its lateral bays crowned by curved
+pediments? It is very well known in these days that the ancient Greeks
+and Romans were creative artists, whether they diademed an Acropolis,
+or carved the throne of a Zeus, or "hit off" a Tanagra figurine, or
+colored a Palatine wall, or a Pompeiian villino—not to mention the
+myriad household utensils, some the most humble, exquisitely designed.
+In plain English—they invented.
+
+The failure of the architect as a decorative designer is a logical
+sequence of commercialism. It is not to be expected that the breadwinner
+should make superfluous sacrifices—that would be "bad business."
+While in every profession there are philanthropic enthusiasts capable
+of high and costly flights of altruism, the rank and file cannot be
+called upon to immolate themselves to an unremunerative idea. One must
+live, and live well, too, in these days. Taking his long and expensive
+training into consideration, and his multifarious requirements, it may
+be boldly asserted that few, if any, of the professions are so poorly
+paid as that of the architect. He is not bedecked with the trappings
+of wealth. His range of theoretical knowledge must be wide, and his
+practical experience very considerable. Probably no class of men is
+more roundly abused for its pains. The client has usually a pack of
+complaints against his architect, and makes it a point to air them.
+On several occasions we have heard men, high in their respective
+callings, irritably denounce, on the flimsiest grounds, all architects
+as "frauds." It is needless to say that our sympathies have invariably
+been with the latter, for, as a profession, we believe them to be
+high-minded, cultivated, conscientious, and efficient. The reason
+that they are not decorative designers is because they are not paid
+for original design. Yet, with all their diversified requirements in
+these days of novel and necessarily tentative construction, they would
+quickly acquire the lost habit, if it were worth their while. Yes, the
+habit is lost, has perished of inanition, temporarily, at least. The
+client does not want original design at the price exacted. He is not
+a Mæcenas; he prefers the mechanical reproduction of stale forms at a
+lower figure, _i.e._, the shopworn conventional. Moreover, he is rather
+inclined to the habitual as being safer. Under these conditions, fresh
+thoughts cannot be looked for. Even those men whose lives are devoted to
+architectural decoration alone, the decorative painters and sculptors,
+are frequently forced by the client to use the wearisome ornaments of
+the past, much to their chagrin, because fresh thought is too expensive.
+Not much objection seems to be made to a lavish outlay on mere barbaric
+material, but a vigorous stand is taken against an outlay on artistic
+invention. What is the result? Unable to evolve fresh motives, the
+architect, perforce, turns to his portfolios and copies. He must have
+ornament, for ornament is part and parcel of his profession as well as
+solid construction and harmonious proportion. Therefore, he purloins it.
+There is no sin in it, for it is done overtly and no one is deceived.
+Any man in the other professions would do likewise under similar
+conditions. It would be reprehensible if he did not. Only this road does
+not lead to new ideas—to a new style. Artistic invention cannot thrive
+under such conditions.
+
+                                                                    F. C.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is not many years since a wealthy New Yorker, a man who employs
+builders a good deal, and architects somewhat, objected to arguments
+and appeals similar to those printed above, by demonstrating that a
+good old building was certainly fine, whereas a proposed new building
+only ran small chance of being fine, and that it followed (for so
+it seemed to him)—it followed that it was wiser for an architect to
+copy the old building rather than to try to design a fresh one. This
+was a _fin-de-siècle_ idea, indeed! Surely, the decadence can hardly
+go farther than to embody itself in a declaration that it was less
+troublesome and more satisfactory to take your designs ready-made
+from fine old things of the past! The rich New Yorker in question was,
+undoubtedly, quoting his favorite architectural practitioner; but that
+same practitioner would hardly have been willing to have said as much
+among artists. Assuredly he would never have stood up at a meeting of
+artists and have declared his gospel in any such terms.
+
+The difficulty in the way of expense may be thought by some not so great
+as Mr. Crowninshield has made it. When the present writer was a pupil
+in an architect's office, the head man, the designer, the real maker
+of the drawings, a workman prolific and able in his way, allowed this
+confidence to escape him—"Yes, I used to think I would get a mountain
+of tracing-paper and trace everything [photographs were not so cheap
+in those days]—and then I would never be out of material! But I found
+by and by that it was too much trouble to find what I wanted; it is
+really much easier to design it; what you want, is a knowledge of the
+style, and what may be done, and what cannot be done; and there you
+are! Besides the time lost in finding your 'material' you lose another
+infinite lot of time in fitting the material together—and _then_ it does
+not fit!" That is as true now as it was a good many years ago. The only
+reason why a modern designer finds it easier to copy than to invent is
+that he is not really familiar with the style, nor really in the habit
+of designing in it. He is not really familiar with the style, because he
+has accustomed himself to go straight to books where all his details are
+to be found complete, and with their relative dimensions figured, and to
+copy them. He is not in the habit of designing in the style (whatever
+it may be), because, again, he has done nothing for years but patch
+together copied details. He is not in the habit of inventing, because,
+as Mr. Crowninshield has shown, he has too much else to do and too much
+else to think of; and because invention is not required of him by his
+clients, nor even delicate, choice, and careful treating of what he
+has chosen, nor even seemly combination of what he has chosen into new
+resulting wholes. If he really knew his style so that he felt at home
+in it—so that he felt it to be plastic in his hands; so that he dared
+play with it and alter its details in absolute conviction that he would
+not abandon its essential characteristics in so doing—then he would find
+it easier to invent than to copy, provided always he had the habit of
+freehand drawing and of simple modelling, and the habit of using either
+or both of those familiar arts for the ornamentation of objects large
+and small.
+
+                                                                    R. S.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI,
+September 1899, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 1899 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 57794-0.txt or 57794-0.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/7/9/57794/
+
+Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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/license
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/57794-0.zip b/57794-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..40c6c14
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-0.zip
diff --git a/57794-h.zip b/57794-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86cc9eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h.zip
diff --git a/57794-h/57794-h.htm b/57794-h/57794-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a84d0a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/57794-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,15558 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+    <title>
+    The Project Gutenberg eBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI, September, 1899, by Various.
+    </title>
+    <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
+    <style type="text/css">
+
+        body {
+    margin-left: 10%;
+    margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+h1,h2,h3 {
+    text-align: center;
+    clear: both;
+    page-break-before: always;
+}
+
+h1 {
+    font-size: 2.5em;
+    margin-top: 6em;}
+h2 {
+    margin-top: 4em;
+    margin-bottom: 1em;
+    line-height: 2em;
+    font-size: 1.2em;
+}
+
+h2.postDeco {margin-top: 2em;
+             page-break-before: avoid;}
+
+.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;
+          margin-top: 2em;} /* for epubs */
+
+.boxed_header {
+    margin-top: 1em;
+    page-break-before: always;
+}
+
+h3 {
+    line-height: 2em;
+    font-weight: normal;
+    font-size: 1em;}
+
+
+
+.tnbox {
+    margin-left: 5%;
+    margin-right: 5%;
+    margin-bottom: 8em;
+    margin-top: 4em;
+    text-align: center;
+    border: 1px solid;
+    padding: 1em;
+    color: black;
+    background-color: #f6f2f2;
+}
+
+hr {
+    width: 33%;
+    margin-top: 2em;
+    margin-bottom: 2em;
+    margin-left: auto;
+    margin-right: auto;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+.pagenum {
+    position: absolute;
+    left: 92%;
+    font-size: smaller;
+    text-align: right;
+    text-indent: 0em;
+}
+
+.smcap { font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+.blockquot {
+    font-size: .95em;
+    margin-left: 1em;
+    margin-right: 1em;
+    margin-bottom: 3em;
+}
+
+p {
+    margin-top: .75em;
+    margin-bottom: .75em;
+    line-height: 1.3em;
+    text-align: justify;
+    text-indent: 1.75em;
+}
+
+
+p.post {text-indent: 0em;}
+p.pfirst {text-indent: 0;}
+
+
+.pdropcap:first-letter {
+ color: transparent;
+ visibility: hidden;
+ margin-left: -0.9em;
+}
+.divdropcapbox {
+ float: left;
+}
+.imgdropcap-el {
+ width: 5.4em;
+ height: auto;
+}
+.divdropcapbox {
+ margin-left: 0;
+ margin-right: 0.5em;
+}
+
+p.postClear {
+    text-indent: 0em;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+.center {
+    text-align: center;
+    text-indent: 0em;
+}
+
+
+.p2   {margin-top: 2em;}
+.p4   {margin-top: 4em;}
+.p6   {margin-top: 6em;}
+
+.s09     {font-size: .9em;}
+.s08 	{font-size:.8em;}
+.s06      {font-size:.6em;}
+.s05 	{font-size:.5em;}
+
+/* Image styling */
+
+img {
+    max-width: 100%;
+    height: auto;
+}
+
+.figcenter, .figcenterFull {
+   margin: auto;
+   text-align: center;
+   margin-top: 4em;
+   margin-bottom: 2em;
+   page-break-inside: avoid;
+}
+.figcenterFull {page-break-before: always;}
+
+.figleft {
+    float: left;
+    clear: left;
+    /*margin-left: 0;*/
+    margin-bottom: 1em;
+    margin-top: 1em;
+    margin-right: 1em;
+    /*padding: 0;*/
+    text-align: center;
+    page-break-inside: avoid;
+}
+
+.caption {
+    text-align: center;
+    margin-top: 0;
+}
+
+.caption p {
+    text-align: center;
+    text-indent: 0;
+    line-height: 1em;
+    font-weight: bold;
+}
+
+.caption .floatl {float: left; font-size: 75%;}
+.caption .floatc {clear: both; padding-top: .5em; font-size: 85%;}
+
+
+ul.idx {
+    list-style-type:none;
+    margin-left: 2em;
+    text-indent: -2em;
+}
+
+.o2 {margin-left: -2em;}
+.o4 {margin-left: -6em;}
+
+/* Poetry Styling */
+
+.poetry-container {  text-align: center; }
+
+.signature_container {
+    text-align: left;
+    float: right;
+    display: inline-block;
+    font-size: 95%;
+    margin-bottom: 1em;
+    clear: both;
+ }
+
+.poem {
+    display: inline-block;
+    font-size: 95%;
+    margin-bottom: 1em;
+    text-align: left; }
+
+.poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+
+.poem p {
+    margin: 0;
+    padding-left: 3em;
+    text-indent: -3em;
+}
+
+.poem p.i1{ margin-left: 1em;}
+
+.poem p.i2 { margin-left: 2em; }
+
+.poem p.i3 { margin-left: 3em; }
+
+.poem p.i4  { margin-left: 4em; }
+
+/* Misc */
+
+.letter_head {
+     margin-top: 2em;
+     padding-right: 2em;
+     text-align: right;
+}
+
+.signature {
+    padding-right: 2em;
+    text-align: right;
+}
+
+
+.sidenote {
+    text-indent: 0;
+    text-align: center;
+    padding-bottom: .3em;
+    padding-top: .3em;
+    padding-left: .3em;
+    padding-right: .3em;
+    margin-right: 1em;
+    float: left;
+    clear: left;
+    margin-top: 1em;
+    margin-bottom: .3em;
+    font-size: smaller;
+    color: black;
+    background-color: #eeeeee;
+    border: thin dotted gray;
+}
+
+.dropcap  {
+	float: left;
+	padding-right: 3px;
+	font-size: 250%;
+	line-height: 83%;
+}
+
+.headerbox {
+   margin-left: 5%;
+   margin-right: 5%;
+   margin-bottom: 2em;
+   margin-top: 4em;
+   text-align: center;
+   border-style:  double;
+   color: black;
+}
+
+@media screen, print
+{
+    h1 {page-break-before: always;}
+
+    p {
+        margin-top: .5em;
+        text-align:  justify;
+        margin-bottom: .25em;
+    }
+
+}
+
+@media handheld
+{
+    body {margin: 0;}
+
+   .poem  {
+         display: block;
+         margin-left: 5%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+    }
+
+    .tnbox {
+        page-break-inside: avoid;
+        margin-left: 2%;
+        margin-right: 2%;
+        margin-top: 1em;
+        margin-bottom: 1em;
+        padding: .5em;
+    }
+
+    .headerbox {
+       border-style:  none;
+    }
+
+    .figcenterFull {
+        margin-top:0em;
+        margin-bottom: 0em;
+    }
+    .sidenote {
+       float: left;
+       clear: none;
+       font-weight: bold;
+    }
+
+    .signature_container {
+        text-align: left;
+        float: right;
+        display: inline-block;
+        font-size: 95%;
+        margin-bottom: 1em;
+        clear: both;
+     }
+ 	.hidepub {visibility: hidden; display: none; margin: 0;}
+    .divdropcapbox {
+     float: left;
+    }
+
+
+}
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI, September
+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/license
+
+
+Title: Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI, September 1899
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: August 28, 2018 [EBook #57794]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 1899 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="tnbox">
+<p class="center">
+<b>Transcriber's Note:</b>
+</p>
+<p>
+  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
+  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+</p>
+
+</div> <!-- /tnbox -->
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-001" id="i-001"></a>
+<img src="images/i-001-575.png" width="300" height="575" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Painted by George Butler.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">VENETIAN GIRL.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_259' name='Page_259' href='#Page_259'>259</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h1>
+<span class="smcap">Scribner's Magazine</span>
+</h1>
+
+<p class="center">
+VOL. XXVI
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+SEPTEMBER, 1899
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+NO. 3
+</p>
+
+<p class="s05 center p4">
+Copyright, 1899, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved.
+</p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">
+WHERE THE WATER RUNS BOTH WAYS
+<br />
+By Frederic Irland
+<br />
+<span class="smcap s08">Illustrations from Photographs by the Author</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<a name="i-002" id="i-002"></a>
+<img src="images/i-002.png" width="114" height="287" alt="Man in Boat" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p class="post">
+<span class="dropcap">T</span>he greatest glory of Canada
+is not its modern progress, but
+its vast and ancient wilderness.
+If you weary of the sameness
+and unprofitableness of every
+thing you know, go where I
+went last year, to the upper waters
+of the Ottawa, where the
+beaver is the master architect
+and the moose is king of the
+woods. See for yourself, as I
+saw, that the Ottawa and the
+Gatineau, appearing to come
+from widely distant regions, have
+their origin close together and
+are twins. Behold these two
+children of the lakes, nourished
+from the same generous breast. Trace
+their courses, and see that, though journeying
+far, in widely different directions,
+they finally arrive at a common destination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nobody knows all about that head-water
+country around the sources of the Ottawa.
+It is a prolific game region, where sportsmen
+rarely go, for the simple reason that
+they can get all the hunting they want
+nearer to the railroad. There are plenty
+of deer close to almost any Canadian
+Pacific station west of Pembroke, and it is
+not much trouble to get a chance at a
+moose in two days from Deux Rivières,
+Rockliffe, or Mattawa. Not many hunting
+parties start from there either, and I
+suppose the reason is that for thousands of
+miles to the west the woods, prairies, and
+mountains lie close to the railroad and
+afford almost limitless opportunities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The territory enclosed by the Ottawa
+and the Gatineau has been, from immemorial
+times, the home of the Algonquin
+Indians, and they still remain there, in such
+primitive innocence that they receive no
+annuity from the Dominion Government.
+In this they are unlike the Indians of the
+United States or their brother tribes of
+Canada.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The map which accompanies this article
+is reproduced from the latest Crown
+Land Office charts of the Upper Ottawa
+River. Hundreds of lakes, some of them
+many miles in extent, are unmarked, because
+they have never been surveyed. But
+a glance at the map will give some idea of
+the flood which is poured out at the feet
+of Canada's stately capital. As a canoeing
+country I believe the Ottawa valley
+to be unequalled anywhere in the world.
+The dotted line on the map shows the
+course of a lazy autumn trip which I took
+around the borders of the great interior
+island, formed by the streams which fall
+from a common birthplace in the Kakebonga
+region and reunite in front of the
+city of Ottawa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The <i><span lang="fr_FR">coureurs du bois</span></i> of the old <i><span lang="fr_FR">régime</span></i>
+have passed away, but the song of their
+beloved wilderness is as sweet to-day as
+when they found it irresistible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Mattawa I procured the supplies
+which are necessary for a canoe trip in
+the woods, and the branch railroad took
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_260' name='Page_260' href='#Page_260'>260</a></span>
+me to the shore of Lake Kippewa. Then
+a lumber company's steamer carried me to
+Hunter's Point, the farthest settlement,
+eighty-five miles north of Mattawa. From
+there it was all canoe and portage. Nowhere
+was there a carry more than a mile
+long, and generally the distance was only
+a few hundred yards from one lake to
+another, or around a rapid. The rivers
+form a continuous waterway, but we made
+many short cuts. In five hundred miles
+of canoeing there were, perhaps, twenty
+miles of carrying, all told.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Isaac Hunter, the postmaster at
+Hunter's Point, has his office in the front
+room of his house or else in his coat-pocket.
+He has a large, well-cleared farm,
+where his father lived before him, and he
+sells hay to the lumbermen at fifty dollars
+a ton. Plenty of people in the United
+States might well want to be in his place.
+Yet the farm he lives on has no legal status.
+It has never been surveyed, and the Crown
+Land Office has no official knowledge of it.
+So he pays no taxes and he never cast a
+vote in his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I got to Mr. Hunter's I was at
+the end of civilization. Beyond his house
+there were no roads except the water-ways,
+and the journey I wished to make through
+the wilderness was several hundred miles
+long. But I felt as sure of the way
+as though I had been there before. There
+are no maps which are of any use at all.
+Not one of them shows more than half of
+the lakes which form the easy road we
+travelled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told Mr. Hunter where I wanted to
+go. He said: "Well, my brother-in-law,
+Joe Decountie, knows the way to Ross
+Lake, about half way to the Grand Lake
+Victoria. Mr. Christopherson, the Hudson's
+Bay agent at Grand Lake, will be
+back here soon. If you want to go with
+Joe and bring back a moose by Saturday,
+you'll find Mr. Christopherson here then,
+and he can tell you how to go the rest
+of the way. You'll need a canoe. They
+sell pretty high this year. You can have
+that one out by the water for six dollars."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-003" id="i-003"></a>
+<img src="images/i-003.png" width="600" height="332" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Valley of the Upper Ottawa.</p>
+
+<p class="floatc s08">
+The finest canoeing country in the world. Mr. Irland's route indicated by the dotted line. There are watercourses even in the
+places where, on the official map, the line seems to cross dry land.
+</p>
+<p class="floatc s08 hidepub"> <a href="images/i-003lg.png">View larger image</a></p>
+
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Joe was young and big. He lived
+across the bay from his brother-in-law.
+He and the rest of the twenty or thirty
+other people around Hunter's Point speak
+Algonquin and French and very fair
+English, and their names show that those
+early adventurers from Europe, two hundred
+years ago and later, had no violent
+race prejudices. The more I have seen
+of the half-bloods of Canada, the more I
+have come to admire them. They are of
+fearless stock, and have inherited many
+good traits from both races. They regard
+with amusement and pity their half-brothers,
+the full-blood Algonquins of the
+remote forest, but they understand the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_261' name='Page_261' href='#Page_261'>261</a></span>
+arts of wood-lore which make life more
+than endurable there. They have French,
+English, Scotch, and Scandinavian family
+names, and any one who thinks they lead
+an uncomfortable life is very much mistaken.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-004" id="i-004"></a>
+<img src="images/i-004alt.png" width="586" height="418" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Lower Chute of the Grand Calumet Fall.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+A good deal has been written lately about
+the hardships and dangers of camp life.
+For years I have spent a considerable time
+each season in the woods, sometimes depending
+for days on the resources of the
+country, and I can truthfully say I never
+had one uncomfortable hour there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where shall we go after a moose, Joe?"
+I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe said: "Well, it's bes' to go where
+we sure to find 'em. Dese fellers aroun'
+here don't like de place where I go, because
+it takes most all day to get dere.
+But I never failed yet to see moose." So
+we threw our luggage into the canoe, and
+departed, in a gentle rain-storm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was nearly a year since I had had a
+paddle in my hand, but it was only a short
+distance between portages. I know of no
+form of severe muscular exertion which
+is so little irksome as paddling a canoe.
+Rowing is galley-slavery in comparison.
+With the paddle there are not less than
+three variations of position on each side,
+which bring new muscles into play and
+relieve the weary ones; and a shift from
+one hand to the other is a complete rest.
+So it was not long, during the succeeding
+month of canoeing, before I came, at daylight,
+to look forward to a long day's paddling
+with positive delight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If any one wishes to know just where
+we went on that little side issue of a moose
+hunt let him get a good map of the Kippewa
+region, and locate the space between
+Lake Ostoboining and Hay Bay. It is a
+blank space on a Crown Land Office map,
+but there are at least fifty small lakes in it.
+It took six hours' canoeing and carrying,
+from Mr. Hunter's house, till we came to
+the lake Joe had chosen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That moose hunt was too easy. We
+got to the lake, put up the tent, chopped
+some wood, and just at dusk, when Joe
+was baking biscuits in the frying-pan, suddenly
+he set the pan down and made a
+rush for the canoe. At the same moment
+I saw a big bull moose wading out of his
+depth, from the opposite shore, into the
+deep water, about the length of a city block
+from the tent. He did not see us at all,
+and went right on, swimming leisurely
+across. The lake was narrow, and the
+moose did not hurry. His broad yellow
+antlers were so heavy that he barely kept
+his nose above the water. It was a great
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_262' name='Page_262' href='#Page_262'>262</a></span>
+sight to see the ripple spread in a diagonal
+behind him, while Joe urged the little
+canoe right up close astern. What a pity
+it was too dark for the camera! When
+he was forty rods from shore and we were
+close to him, Joe asked, loudly and pleasantly,
+"Jack, where you goin' to-day?"
+Jack turned his big head, and the expression
+in his ox-like eye was that of pained
+surprise. He began to swim so hard
+that he half climbed out of the water.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-005" id="i-005"></a>
+<img src="images/i-005.png" width="453" height="397" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">On Lake Kippewa.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+"Let's head him off," said Joe. So
+we made a respectful circle around the
+moose, and he ported his helm and turned
+back toward the place whence he came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Drive him to the tent," I suggested;
+and we did the meanest thing I ever saw
+done on a moose hunt. We kept between
+him and where he wanted to go, and actually
+made him carry himself to shore
+close to the tent, before I turned the express
+bullet loose. It was all done so
+quickly that the biscuits did not burn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now, we worked ourselves out of
+business, didn't we?" commented Joe,
+by the fire-light, after we had completed
+certain anatomical dismemberments, the
+result of which would have astonished the
+moose very greatly if he could have seen
+himself hung up. "My pore leetle cousins
+ain't got no fresh meat," continued
+Joe, relapsing from the severely studied
+English with which he had previously addressed
+me. "It's 'bout twelve mile
+straight so, to de house. How you t'ink
+if I bring my cousins to-morrow to take
+out de moose?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thought that was a very good idea,
+so the next day Joe left me and walked
+through the woods to Hunter's Point, to
+bring his relatives. In the afternoon it
+rained, so Joe and his cousins did not appear,
+and I had the blankets to myself
+that night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Hudson's Bay Company supply a
+tent which can be closed up tightly. This
+is good in mosquito time, but in the fall
+there is nothing so fine as a plain shed
+tent, open in front. The heat from the
+fire is reflected down from the slanting
+roof, and you can keep warm and dry in
+the coldest rain that ever fell, especially if
+you have a light fly spread above the tent.
+I had brought along a tent of this pattern,
+and was as comfortable as any king that
+night, though the nearest human being
+was twelve miles or so away. The rain
+made the fire burn more brightly than
+usual, by knocking the film of ashes from
+the logs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning I was awakened by
+my old friends, the moose-birds. A pair
+of them were trying to carry off the moose
+meat, all at one mouthful, and at the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_263' name='Page_263' href='#Page_263'>263</a></span>
+same time fighting away a third bird which
+sneaked in between their trips to their
+place of storage. The moose-bird takes
+life very seriously, and his sole business
+is stealing everything he can stick his bill
+into. Unless he is very often disturbed
+he is without fear, and will readily alight
+on a stick held in your hand, if you put a
+piece of meat on the end of the stick. I
+have often photographed the bird at a distance
+of three or four feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About two o'clock that afternoon Joe
+and his friends appeared on the scene,
+with another canoe; and they carried the
+moose home in sections.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day was so warm and bright
+that we took the canoe and went on a
+long observation tour. Joe made a big
+circuit, from lake to lake and pond to
+pond. One of the geographical peculiarities
+of the country is that you can go by
+water in any direction you choose, with
+short portages. Between almost any two
+ridges you will find a lake or two.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-006" id="i-006"></a>
+<img src="images/i-006.png" width="535" height="550" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Cow Moose in Thick Timber.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+In many places we saw where, earlier
+in the season, the moose had been eating
+the water-lilies. The remnants of the
+roots, as thick as a man's wrist, were
+floating on the surface by the score.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About four o'clock in the afternoon,
+when we were on the return to our tent,
+and paddling along very quietly, we heard
+a stick break close by the edge of the
+water. Looking sharply into the thick
+brush I caught sight of a cow moose,
+with two calves, in the woods about twenty
+feet back from the shore. We kept
+very quiet, hoping they would come out
+where they could be photographed. But
+soon the cow's great ears straightened out
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_264' name='Page_264' href='#Page_264'>264</a></span>
+in our direction, the calves backed around
+behind their mamma, and in an instant
+they had begun a noiseless flight.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-007" id="i-007"></a>
+<img src="images/i-007.png" width="600" height="364" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Hudson's Bay Post at the Grand Lake Victoria.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+It was dusk by the time we reached our
+own lake, and there was a faint moon.
+All through the day we had traversed
+about as fine a moose country as one
+could find. Every lake had its well-defined
+path around
+the shore, just
+along the edge of
+the bushes.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-007b" id="i-007b"></a>
+<img src="images/i-007b.png" width="337" height="411" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">A Portage.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+At the head of
+our lake, about a
+mile from the
+tent, we stopped
+and ran the canoe
+ashore. Joe
+grunted hoarsely,
+and splashed the
+water with his
+paddle, and,
+sooner than it
+takes to tell this,
+we heard, not two
+hundred yards
+away, the most
+impressive sound
+that ever comes
+to a sportsman's
+ears, the ripping,
+tearing noise
+made by a bull
+moose, hooking the trees right and left
+out of sheer joy and pride in his strength.
+He tore down a few cords of saplings,
+judging by the racket, and then came
+out, "oofing" at every step, circling
+around us. In the gathering dusk we saw
+his great black shape for a moment as he
+crossed the little stream in which the canoe
+was hidden. That
+was the time to
+have fired, if I
+had wanted him
+very badly, but
+Joe, whose wealth
+of luck had made
+him over-bold,
+whispered, "I
+bring him close,"
+and emitted a
+loud roar, very
+like the squeal of
+a horse, and the
+moose never
+stopped to take
+one more look.
+He simply
+wheeled around
+behind the fir
+thicket where he
+was concealed,
+and, with a few
+characteristic remarks
+in his own
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_265' name='Page_265' href='#Page_265'>265</a></span>
+language, expressive of disdain and opprobrium,
+made a hasty departure for a distant
+section of the country. He acted as
+though he recognized Joe's voice. "Well,
+we fright him good, anyway," said Joe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was only one other place on our
+whole subsequent trip where the moose
+seemed to be so plentiful as right here,
+close to Lake Kippewa. We had one
+moose, and had seen that there were plenty
+more. The Quebec law allows only two
+in a season, to one man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wished to see more of the Kippewa
+country before going north; so we went
+back to Mr. Hunter's the next morning,
+and there met Mr. Christopherson, on his
+way back to the Grand Lake Victoria, and
+with him an Indian named Jocko, one of
+the "Grand Lakers," as Joe called them.
+Jocko was a thick-set, open-faced barbarian
+who smiled at the slightest excuse, and
+who was so pleasant and bright that I am
+going hunting with him some day if I can.
+Mr. Christopherson said there would be no
+trouble in finding our way to the Grand
+Lake Victoria, as there was a plain trail
+from Ross Lake, where Joe had been, to
+Trout Lake, and that on this latter sheet
+of water were two or three families of Indians
+who traded at the Grand Lake Victoria,
+any one of whom could be induced,
+for a dollar a day, to show us the way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe and I spent another week camping
+about Kippewa Lake, getting used to each
+other's paddling, before we started on our
+northern journey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was at this stage of the proceedings
+that Joe modestly suggested that he had a
+little nephew, Billy Paulson, thirteen years
+old, who could do a good deal around
+camp, and that he would like to take him
+with us. So Billy went and was happy.
+He was a versatile little boy. He could
+read, which Joe could not do, and he
+spoke English without much accent. I
+shall not soon forget my amazement when
+he began, soon after our introduction, to
+whistle, in good tune, Sousa's "Washington
+Post" march. How it had reached
+that far corner of the earth I do not know,
+and neither did he; but he had it, and
+with "Her Golden Hair was Hanging
+down Her Back," as an occasional interlude,
+he made distant lakes melodious
+during the succeeding days.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-008" id="i-008"></a>
+<img src="images/i-008.png" width="549" height="447" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">The Old Dam at Barrière Lake.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+The next day we took another side trip,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_266' name='Page_266' href='#Page_266'>266</a></span>
+to the east end of Lake Kippewa. Joe
+had been telling of a wonderful trout lake,
+away up the mountain, and we went to
+see it. There we found one of Billy's
+relatives, Johnnie Puryea, and two squaws,
+catching a winter's supply of trout. They
+had been there about a week, and had
+more than three hundred beautiful fish
+hung up on a frame over a slow, smoky
+fire. While we partook of Johnnie's trout,
+such a violent thunder-shower came up,
+with heavy wind, that we stayed late. It
+was almost as dark as it could be when we
+started back over the
+mile portage to the
+big lake. There was
+no good trail, only a
+few trees being
+"spotted," and the
+side of the mountain
+was furrowed with
+countless ravines, at
+the bottom of some
+one of which lay our
+canoe. We could
+not see the trail at
+all, but kept going
+down hill, and feeling
+of every tree we
+came to for the axe-spots.
+I suppose
+we were about two
+hours making that
+mile, and I vividly
+appreciated the force
+of the expression
+"feeling one's way."
+When we finally
+found the canoe, and
+the moon came out
+from under the
+clouds, the smooth
+lake seemed, after
+the storm, to be an
+old friend.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-009" id="i-009"></a>
+<img src="images/i-009.png" width="456" height="337" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Heavy Swells.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+The next morning
+we paddled along the
+shores of the deep
+indenting bays for
+miles, looking for
+moose tracks. At
+one place a whole
+family, big and little,
+had left fresh hoof-prints
+in the mud,
+and Joe followed
+them to see where they went, while Billy
+and I trolled, and caught as many walleyed
+pike and pickerel as we pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All along the shores of the lake, at
+conspicuous points, the bush-rangers, or
+fire police, had posted printed warnings
+against leaving fires in the woods. It is
+a misdemeanor there to leave a smouldering
+fire. He who starts a blaze must see
+that it is extinguished.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-009b" id="i-009b"></a>
+<img src="images/i-009b.png" width="465" height="377" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">"Jocko"—a Typical Algonquin.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Joe showed us a place where he and a
+companion were watching for moose last
+year. "De moose come out. I shoot.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_267' name='Page_267' href='#Page_267'>267</a></span>
+De ca'tridge bu'st, and mos' blind me. I
+listen for my chum to shoot, but he no
+shoot. I look 'round, and my chum run
+away. So we no get dat moose."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are many men who do not seem to
+be able to face a moose, but the animal
+cannot do anything to a man with a heavy
+rifle, who uses it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My note-book is full of Joe's moose
+stories. Here is one that shows how common
+the animals are at Kippewa. "Las'
+year anoder lad and me, we took a big
+head out to de station to sell. A man offer
+us five dollar for it.
+At las' we sell it for
+six. De trouble was,
+'noder feller sell a
+moose, de head, skin,
+meat, and all, de week
+before, for five dollar.
+I swore I never help
+take out no more
+heads twenty-five
+mile for t'ree dollar
+my share, and me kill
+de moose, too!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shores of
+Lake Kippewa are
+high hard-wood
+ridges, and one can
+see a long way
+through the trees, as
+there is not much undergrowth.
+It is an
+ideal place to hunt.
+As late as October
+14th it was rather
+warm for a night fire in front of the tent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every red and golden leaf as it fell at
+our feet bore to us the same message.
+The Indian summer was upon us, and it
+was time to be going northward. So we
+gathered our simple belongings together,
+and started on our swing around the
+wilderness circle, to find where the two
+rivers run from the same lake, to behold
+the mountain home of the twins.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There is joy in the mere fact of following
+unmapped water-ways. No matter
+if you mistake your course, you can, at
+least, come back by the same way you
+go. The river will run just as it has run
+during all the centuries while you were
+neglecting it, and the lake will stay where
+it has waited for you these countless years.
+The land-marks will not fade away. Few,
+indeed, have been the kings of earth
+who ever felt as jaunty and independent
+as the one white man and two half-breeds
+who left Hunter's Point for the far Upper
+Ottawa, on the 16th of October, last year.
+No matter what happened to other people,
+we were secure; and the farther away
+we got, the better pleased we were.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half a day of steady paddling through
+the Birch Lakes took us past shores where
+the standing pine has never been disturbed
+by the lumbermen. There are in
+these vast forests thousands of miles of
+country which have never yet been decimated.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-010" id="i-010"></a>
+<img src="images/i-010.png" width="452" height="369" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Against the Current.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+The farther end of Big Birch Lake was
+the best we could do the first day, and we
+camped at the foot of a portage as well
+cleared as a country road, which has been
+in use by the Indians for a hundred years,
+and probably much longer. Joe here rebelled
+against any elaborate tenting arrangements
+for travellers. He cut three
+long poles, stuck them in the ground slanting,
+and threw the tent over them. In
+truth this did just as well, when the wind
+did not blow, as anything else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A half-mile climb the next morning
+brought us to the top of a long hill; and
+right at the very top, where a hundred
+dollars' worth of blasting would let it run
+down into Birch Lake, stretched away
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_268' name='Page_268' href='#Page_268'>268</a></span>
+Lake Sissaginega, or "Island Lake," appropriately
+named, for there are about
+five hundred islands in it.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-011" id="i-011"></a>
+<img src="images/i-011.png" width="370" height="469" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Beaver-house.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Joe produced a couple of short oars
+from the bottom of the canoe, and nailed
+a pair of rude rowlocks onto the gunwales.
+He explained that on the long,
+wind-swept lakes which we should have
+to traverse, a pair of oars were superior
+to two paddles against a head wind. It
+was a wonderful thing, but during hundreds
+of miles of lake travel after that we
+never once had a serious delay from
+weather. Nearly every morning the wind
+rose briskly with the sun, blew during the
+middle of the day, and moderated toward
+evening; so we pursued the ancient Indian
+custom of starting very early in the
+morning, before the wind came up; took
+a good rest in the middle of the day, and
+continued as late as we could in the evening.
+But not once on all our prosperous
+journey were we really wind-bound,
+though this is one of the most common of
+occurrences on these lakes, where the wind
+often piles the swells up so high that not
+even a birch-bark can weather them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The height of the wave which this marvellous
+little evolution of the ages can stand
+is not conceivable till you have witnessed
+it. Running with a heavy, fair wind, the
+swells rise behind you and seem about to
+engulf you. But in some way the canoe
+rises with the wave, and the boiling, foaming
+mass rushes harmlessly by, while you
+sit on the dry, clean bottom, and your
+pride increases with each successive
+triumph.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very long lake next north
+of Sissaginega is Cacaskanan, not
+shown at all on the maps. On
+this lake, about eleven o'clock
+the second day out, while Joe
+was rowing, and merely casting
+an occasional perfunctory glance
+over his left shoulder, he suddenly
+hissed, "See de moose!"
+We were at least a mile from
+shore, and though I have seldom
+met any one, civilized or savage,
+who could beat me at seeing
+game, I took off my hat to Joe
+from then on. Sure enough, over
+Joe's left shoulder he had seen a
+cow moose in the edge of the
+timber on shore. A projecting
+point allowed us to get pretty close
+to the animal. The wind was
+partly off shore, and all the time
+we were approaching we could
+see her watching the shore, starting
+at every sound made by the
+wind among the dead tree-trunks,
+but paying no attention to the
+water side at all. This enabled
+us, considering the difficulty of navigating
+among fallen tree-trunks, to make
+one of the most remarkable photographs
+I have ever taken. We got to the very
+shore, and crept within thirty-five feet
+of that moose. I made my exposure of
+the negative before she saw us at all.
+This photograph will give a better idea
+than could ever be conveyed in words, of
+the tremendous difficulty of still-hunting
+the moose in thick, dry timber, where the
+crackling of a twig will spoil the best-made
+stalk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That photograph was more satisfactory
+to me than the shooting of fifty moose
+would have been. The moose does not
+show to the best advantage in the picture,
+but that was her fault, and not ours. At
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_269' name='Page_269' href='#Page_269'>269</a></span>
+the click of the shutter
+she went to find the
+rest of her folks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Late that afternoon
+we came to a place
+where Lake Cacaskanan
+narrows to about
+one hundred yards
+wide, and here there
+were many moose
+tracks. Just beyond,
+we met a family of the
+Indians who had killed
+two moose that very
+day, and had more than
+a hundred musquash
+freshly skinned. Billy
+was wonderfully impressed
+by the dirty,
+unkempt appearance of
+the little children, whose shocks of matted
+hair he unconsciously Kiplingized by referring
+to them afterward as "haystacks."
+The Indian who was the head of this family,
+on being told by Joe where we were
+going, said that we would walk on the ice
+before we got back. I fear he was a sluggard,
+who saw lions or bears in the path
+of every enterprise. He was burning logs
+twenty feet long, to save the trouble of
+cutting them in two, and so he had fire
+enough for four tents, instead of one.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-012b" id="i-012b"></a>
+<img src="images/i-012b.png" width="396" height="338" alt="" />
+
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">The Moose-bird.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Monday morning, October 18th, we had
+breakfast by starlight. Venus and Jupiter
+were two particularly bright morning stars.
+Billy looked long at the waning planets
+and remarked, in an awe-struck tone,
+"My, but they must be high up!"
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <a name="i-012" id="i-012"></a>
+    <img src="images/i-012.png" width="456" height="341" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">A Beaver Dam.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+That day we reached Ross Lake, where
+there is a lumberman's supply depot for
+operations over on the main Ottawa, in
+the direction of Lake Expanse. We had
+no occasion to stop there, and all the afternoon
+followed the directions we had received
+from Mr. Christopherson, pursuing
+the Hudson's Bay Company trail through
+some small beaver ponds, till we reached
+Trout Lake, a beautiful sheet of water
+about fifteen miles long, where we expected
+to find an Indian to guide us to the
+Grand Lake Victoria.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We found the summer camp
+all right, where the Indians
+had a potato-patch, which
+they had not dug, so Joe said
+they had not left for the winter;
+but not a smoke or sign
+of life could we find. We explored
+the lake, finding abundant
+moose signs and trolled
+for salmon trout, which at this
+time were up near the surface.
+One we caught was the largest
+I ever saw. We had no means
+of determining its weight, but
+when placed in the centre of
+the canoe, crosswise, on the
+bottom, its nose protruded
+over one gunwale and its tail
+above the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of our third
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_270' name='Page_270' href='#Page_270'>270</a></span>
+day on the lake we heard a dog bark, and
+found the Indians encamped on a secluded
+island. The wretches had seen us the first
+day, but, fearing we were game wardens or
+other evil-disposed persons, had kept out
+of our way. Joe said the Indians up there
+had a reputation for hiding from passers-by.
+After we had met them and given
+evidence of good intentions, they were sociable
+enough. While we were inviting
+the Indians to pass judgment on the contents
+of a certain jug, an extremely large
+domestic cat belonging to them ate much
+of the moose meat in our canoe. Nearly
+every Indian camp in these woods has at
+least one cat, to keep the moose-birds and
+wood-mice in subjugation, and the cats,
+being hard to get, are highly prized.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-013" id="i-013"></a>
+<img src="images/i-013.png" width="556" height="448" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">On Lake Kakebonga.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+We soon made a bargain with Kakwanee,
+a young Indian just married and needing
+money, to show us the way to the Hudson's
+Bay post on the Grand Lake Victoria.
+Without knowing it, all the time
+we had been on Trout Lake we were quite
+near a crew of lumbermen who were building
+a dam at the outlet, to raise the water
+for a reserve supply, to be used, when
+needed, to drive logs down the Ottawa,
+the water running out through Lake Expanse.
+The intention was to raise the
+water six feet; and as there are at least
+seventy-five square miles of water in Trout
+Lake, it will be seen that a large reservoir
+would be produced by closing the outlet,
+perhaps fifty feet wide. The Indians were
+doing a good deal of laughing among themselves,
+as they said there was a marsh on
+the other side of the lake, where, unless another
+very long dam was built, the water
+would run off in the direction of Lake Kippewa
+as soon as it was raised a foot or so;
+and the lumbermen did not know this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the evening while we were camped,
+waiting for Kakwanee to bid farewell to
+his bride, Billy heard a trout splash the
+water. He at once got some birch-bark
+and placed it in the cleft of a split stick,
+warming it by the fire to make it curl up,
+and then lighting it on the edge. In this
+way he made a torch which burned brightly
+for a long time. Getting into the canoe
+he pushed silently out, standing up. Letting
+the light shine into the clear water, he soon
+located the big trout, which lay quietly on
+the bottom in the full blaze of light. Then
+he made the motions of spearing, though
+he had no spear; and there was no doubt,
+from the realism of the pantomime, that
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_271' name='Page_271' href='#Page_271'>271</a></span>
+Billy, child as he was, well knew a very
+unsportsmanlike way to kill fish. It was
+a beautiful sight to see Billy stand up in a
+very tottlish birch-bark canoe, as confident
+as a bare-back rider on a circus horse.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-014" id="i-014"></a>
+<img src="images/i-014.png" width="578" height="420" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">The "Mountain Chute," Gatineau River.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Joe had done some work as a "shanty-man,"
+and the sight of the crew who were
+building the dam made him reminiscent.
+"One time," said he, "I do de chainin' for
+a gang; dat is, fasten de logs wid de
+chain, and bind em fas'. My chum, he
+was French, and he drive de sled. He
+was goin' for git marry so soon it was time
+for de camp to break up, an' he was sing
+an' smile to hisself de whole time. De
+ver' las' day, de las' load, he say, 'Now,
+Joe, dis load be de las' I ever drive fore
+I go home to my Julie.' So he start de
+sled, an' de sled hit a dead birch. When
+I come 'long behine him, dere he was dead.
+A limb break off de birch when de sled
+strike it. It was all rotten, an' de piece of
+de limb not so big as your arm. But de
+limb was freeze, an' it hit him on de head,
+an' he never move. He go home to Julie,
+sure, but not de way he expec'."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My," said Billy, solemnly, "it must
+be awful for a man's peoples when he go
+'way from home feelin' good, and laugh
+and sing, and, the next thing his peoples
+know, he come home dead!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning Kakwanee appeared
+and we resumed our interrupted journey,
+running all day through two lakes, neither
+of which has ever appeared on any map
+of Quebec. It seems wonderful that after
+white men have used watercourses for
+canoe routes for a century or two, and
+when lumbermen have investigated the
+country, there are stretches of many miles
+together which are not indicated on official
+maps except by white spots. But
+this is true of over half a million square
+miles of British-American territory. The
+two lakes we traversed are called by
+Indian names which mean "Crosswise
+Lake" and "Old Man Lake." Out of
+the latter runs a river which falls into the
+Grand Lake Victoria. This lake is really
+an expansion of the Ottawa. In many
+places its shores are covered with medium-sized
+pines, and in others bare rocks are
+the only things to be seen. The greatest
+enemy to these forests is fire, and in all
+parts of the country are vast tracts which
+have been so devastated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a long day's paddle from the
+lower end of the Grand Lake Victoria to
+the old Hudson's Bay agency near its
+northern extremity. Here Mr. Christopherson
+received us with great hospitality.
+He said I was the fourth white man
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_272' name='Page_272' href='#Page_272'>272</a></span>
+who had visited the post that year. The
+Indians who came there to get their annual
+supplies, material and spiritual, had long
+since left their little summer cabins for
+winter hunting-grounds. Though the sun
+shone warm and bright, it might turn
+cold any night now, and so Mr. Christopherson
+sent Jocko to show us the portages
+as far as an Indian village, twenty-seven
+miles up the river. There we could
+get a guide to see us through to the place
+where the water runs the other way.
+Jocko, himself, wanted to go away hunting,
+so he only accompanied us as far as
+the Indian settlement.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-015" id="i-015"></a>
+<img src="images/i-015.png" width="519" height="446" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">A "Chute" on the Gatineau.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+This procuring of guides through an unknown
+country, on the instalment plan,
+was very fascinating to me, and it illustrated
+a characteristic of the northern
+forest Indian which is universal. The red
+man of the prairies was a nomad, but the
+son of the woods does not make very
+long pilgrimages, or know much about the
+world beyond his own hunting-ground.
+Before he is old enough to remember any
+thing he makes his first journey to the
+trading-post where his ancestors have for
+generations been regular customers and
+perpetual debtors. He does not remember
+how or when he learned the way. On his
+own stream and its tributaries he is an infallible
+guide, for he learned all the landmarks
+before he could pronounce their
+names. But every forest traveller has
+found the Indians in one locality reluctant
+to go far from home. When Alexander
+Mackenzie felt his way, by stream and
+portage, to the great river which bears his
+name, and thence down to the Frozen
+Ocean, he found that the Indians on one
+reach of the river always believed that below
+their own country there were impassable
+rapids and insurmountable rocks, ferocious
+beasts and hidden perils. If you
+will journey toward the head of the Ottawa,
+in the fall of this year, you will find
+precisely the same state of aboriginal mind.
+The Indians around the Grand Lake Victoria
+are within a few miles of the sources
+of rivers flowing toward the four quarters
+of the American continent. Ten
+days' steady canoeing in any direction
+would take them to Hudson's Bay or
+Lake Huron or Lake Ontario or Montreal.
+But they never travel for the sake
+of seeing the country, or get far from home.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_273' name='Page_273' href='#Page_273'>273</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was on the last day Jocko was with us,
+October 26th, that I made the photograph
+of him which is one of the illustrations of
+this article. He was in his shirt-sleeves
+and wore an old straw hat. While we
+were eating our lunch at noon, the black
+flies were a little attentive and it was uncomfortably
+warm. That was the climate
+of the far Upper Ottawa in the last days
+of October. There was not yet a suggestion
+of snow. For all the atmospheric
+indications told us, we might have been
+in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Ottawa above Grand Lake House
+comes down out of the rocky hills, and is
+full of rapids. In many smooth places
+the current is very swift, and it was worth
+coming a long way to see Joe and Jocko
+paddle up places where Billy and I could
+not go. Fighting inch by inch against a
+rapid current is one of the most trying
+tests of endurance I know. It is unlike
+anything else in the world. You pull and
+pull, and realize that an instant's relaxation
+will cost you all you have gained. If
+the water only would stop for an instant!
+But it is so easy for the current to rush
+on and on. How futile are human energy
+and perseverance against a power which
+has never for one second faltered in uncounted
+years!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jocko told Joe—he could not say it in
+English—that he enjoyed travelling with
+us more than he did with the Hudson's
+Bay Company people, because they travelled
+for dear life, making fifty or sixty
+miles a day, and nearly paralyzed his
+arms. When he had gone from Hunter's
+Point to Grand Lake House a few weeks
+before, he and Mr. Christopherson had
+made the trip in less than three days, but
+his arms were numb all the next night.
+He liked to find a white man who travelled
+"like an Indian," and said if I would
+come up this fall he would show me some
+moose and deer hunting around the head
+of the Coulonge and Dumoine, the like
+of which white men did not often see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We reached the camp of the old chief,
+Jocko's objective point, just at purple twilight,
+when the smoke was rising straight
+toward the sky, and we witnessed one of
+the most peaceful and beautiful bits of
+wilderness comfort I have ever beheld. It
+seemed more like approaching a white
+man's farm than an Indian camp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were two or three log-houses, a
+few acres of cleared land, and two or three
+horses and cows. A tame horned owl
+scolded us from the roof of a barn. The
+Indian girls were singing and calling to
+each other across the wide river. A score
+of children and grandchildren of the fat
+old chief turned out to welcome us, and
+we slept in one of the log-barns, on the
+hay. Jocko sat up and visited with his Indian
+girl friends, and I heard them
+laughing and chatting until long after
+midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I lay looking out at the shining surface
+of the Ottawa, from my cosey nest in
+the sweet, wild hay, it was bewildering to
+remember that so much of Canada lay
+south of us. Only a rifle-shot away, at the
+end of a forest path, were the bubbling
+springs which form the sources of the
+Coulonge, that pine-embowered stream
+which, for two hundred miles, straight away
+to the south, traverses the centre of the
+great interior island whose borders we
+were encircling. I thought of the long
+reaches of moonlit river, where the timid
+deer were drinking, and the moose, in all
+the ardor of their courtship, roared hoarse
+contempt for impertinent rivals. And
+this was only one of the streams whose
+sources we were circumnavigating: the
+Maganasipi, the Bear, the swamp-fed
+Black, the Dumoine, the Tomasine, the
+Desert—all these rivers and a thousand
+lakes, gathered all at last in the generous
+arms of the twin rivers, and borne away
+to join the grand chorus, the voice of
+many waters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the morning there was a pow-wow,
+as the result of which a son and grandson
+of the chief agreed to see us out to
+the Gatineau, the boy going along to help
+his father if a freeze-up should make it
+necessary to carry their canoe back over
+the ice. For many miles through devious
+channels and short cuts, we ran past natural
+meadows where the unsown grass
+had grown high and dried up for the lack
+of something to feed upon it—ancient
+beaver meadows, from which all trace of
+the original forest had long ago disappeared.
+Joe and the Indian discussed
+the beaver question earnestly. It appears
+that the most interesting issue in Algonquin
+politics is what to do about the beavers.
+There are plenty of them all through
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_274' name='Page_274' href='#Page_274'>274</a></span>
+the back country, and the Indians regard
+them as their personal property. They
+only kill a certain proportion of the little
+animals, and carefully preserve the supply.
+The beaver's habit of building for
+himself and family a comfortable and conspicuous
+residence enables the hunters to
+take a pretty accurate census of the population,
+and to tell just where the animals
+are to be found. On our way we turned
+aside and photographed a beaver-dam
+and a house. The natural history books
+generally picture these constructions as
+quite symmetrical affairs, but all I have
+ever seen have been rough piles of sticks
+and mud, and the photographs show typical
+beaver construction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few years ago a sportsman's club in
+Quebec induced the legislature to pass a
+law entirely prohibiting the killing of
+beaver until the year 1900. Two hundred
+years ago, when the Iroquois made
+raids on the Ottawa country, and prevented
+the annual catch of beaver skins
+from coming down to Montreal and Quebec,
+hard times fell upon Canada. Precisely
+the same condition has confronted
+the Indians and the Hudson's Bay Company
+recently. It is almost as bad a situation
+as it would be in Illinois if the farmers
+were forbidden by law to kill hogs. The
+Hudson's Bay Company's agents at Grand
+Lake Victoria and the Barriere lake have
+not dared to buy the skins. The Indians
+have had no other reliable way to pay for
+their supplies. Ruin for the traders and
+starvation for the Indians would inevitably
+follow the continued enforcement of the
+law. Some relief has been afforded by
+the fact that the post at Abittibi ships all
+its furs by way of Hudson's Bay, so they
+cannot be seized by the Quebec authorities;
+and thousands of skins, worth $10
+apiece, were diverted to that market last
+year. The Indians have been very much
+disturbed over the matter, for they find
+the law of necessity more urgent than a
+statute whose logic they cannot understand.
+"Some families up here starve to
+death last winter," interpreted Joe, after
+listening for awhile to Jonas, our new
+guide. "I t'ink I no starve, w'en de
+beaver build his house close by my water-hole."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our newly acquired pilot had no idea of
+losing any business opportunities. His
+canoe was ahead of the one in which Joe,
+Billy, and I travelled, and he had his muzzle-loading,
+cylinder-bore double shot-gun,
+a handy little weapon, lying in front of him,
+both hammers at full cock, hour after hour
+as he paddled, the muzzle pointing squarely
+at the back of his boy in the bow. It
+was trying to unaccustomed nerves, but the
+boy seemed to be used to the idea of sudden
+death. Jonas had a curious habit of
+holding a bullet in his mouth, ready to drop
+it in an instant down the gun-barrel, on top
+of the shot. The utility of keeping his
+decks cleared for action appeared when,
+toward evening, he cleverly snapped up a
+reckless mink which darted along the bank,
+where the stream was narrow and crooked.
+The report startled a caribou, which
+crashed out of the alders, not fifty feet
+away. Jonas spat his bullet down the left
+barrel and fired again, neatly missing both
+his boy's head and the reindeer. Joe derided
+Jonas in choice Algonquin, and said
+to me, confidentially, "I t'ink we better go
+in front in de mornin'." All the same, the
+Indian's idea of a gun which will do for
+partridges one minute and moose the next
+is a sound one, in a country where one's
+breakfast flies or runs away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At noon the next day, we reached the
+head of that branch of the Ottawa rising
+in the Barriere lake. Long ago forgotten
+Gatineau timber-cutters built a dam, to divert
+this water to the Jean de Terre, but
+now the dam has fallen into disuse, and
+the stream seeks its ancient bed. Just beyond
+the dam is the Hudson's Bay post,
+a branch of the one on the Grand Lake
+Victoria. Mr. Edwards, the agent, was delighted
+to see strangers, especially when I
+produced a letter which Mr. Christopherson
+had sent by me, enclosing his three
+months' salary. Mrs. Edwards soon discovered
+that our Billy was her nephew, and
+that much-related young person was at
+once honored with a seat at the family
+dinner-table with the twelve little Edwardses,
+fraternizing with them in the
+three-ply language which is the natural
+speech of these mixed races. Mr. Edwards
+told me he had that season refused
+hundreds of beaver-skins from Indians,
+every one of whom was on his books for a
+year's supplies, and now he did not quite
+see what the post was going to do, with
+beavers demonetized.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_275' name='Page_275' href='#Page_275'>275</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jonas, our most recent guide, did not
+wish to linger, being haunted by the fear
+of coming frost which the warm air belied.
+So that same afternoon we hastened
+on, regretfully declining Mr. Edwards's
+invitation to go on a caribou hunt.
+These reindeer abound in the Barrière
+lake country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We camped perhaps fifteen miles from
+the post that night, and the next morning,
+soon after starting up the lake, came to a
+narrow place where the water, instead of
+coming toward us as it had been doing all
+the time for days, formed a little rapid, running
+the same way we were going. The
+day before we had seen the water pouring
+into the Ottawa through the lumbermen's
+worn-out dam, and here, twenty-four hours
+afterward, continuing up the same lake, we
+found the current was with us instead of
+against us, down instead of up, and we
+were drifting out toward the Gatineau, in
+the other direction. If we had not known
+about the two outlets to the lake we should
+have thought the water was bewitched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All that day we ran through Lake Kakebonga,
+which the Hudson's Bay people
+consider the most bewildering sheet of
+water in the Gatineau Valley. There are
+dozens of deep bays, which look about
+alike, and if you start into the wrong one,
+you get wholly astray. Once during the
+day it became a little foggy, and Jonas at
+once went ashore and waited for the veil
+to lift, as he said no one could find his way
+there in thick weather. These large lakes
+are all long and narrow, and very crooked.
+Like Kippewa and Victoria, Lake Kakebonga
+is nowhere wide, but its shore-line
+is very long, and the canoe route often
+cuts across a portage to save miles of travelling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+East of Lake Kakebonga there is a
+very rough bit of country which we
+crossed by what are locally known as the
+Sixteen Portages, or "the Sixteen," where
+we clambered into and out of the canoe
+on an average about once in half a mile.
+At last we came to a long, wide path over
+a level plain. "I know dis portage so
+well I know my own house," said Joe.
+"I was up here from de Gatineau fourteen
+year ago." And there our forest friends
+turned back, and left Joe and Billy and
+me to make our way by the smooth current
+of the Jean de Terre out to the Gatineau.
+I suppose we ran twenty miles
+after three o'clock that afternoon. Then,
+when it was so dark we could see no longer,
+we camped on a dry sand-bar, cooked our
+supper by a little fire, turned the canoe on
+edge, spread our blankets, threw the tent
+over all, and were lost in dreamless oblivion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"De wolf was howl pretty good las'
+night, wasn't he?" commented Joe, as he
+waked Billy and me in the smoky dawn.
+"I tink I hear em close by onetime." And
+in the sand, about one hundred feet from
+our resting-place, were plenty of tracks,
+where the deer-killing brutes had prowled
+around while we slept; perfectly harmless
+creatures, but unable to resist the temptation
+to come near the fat and juicy Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of all northern wilderness streams, the
+most interesting I have ever seen is the
+Gatineau, into which we were soon carried
+by the current of the Jean de Terre.
+The descent which the devious Ottawa
+makes in seven hundred miles or so, is accomplished
+by the Gatineau in its straight
+course of less than two hundred, and there
+are few places where you cannot hear the
+roar of the next rapid. In the spring
+every bend is a maelstrom. On the banks
+and overhanging cedars we could see the
+marks made by the spring freshets, fifteen
+feet above the fall level of the water.
+And even then, as we approached a rapid,
+it was necessary to know on which side the
+portage was, because generally the opposite
+bank was a vertical wall, and once in
+the sweep of the current, there could be
+no return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see dat rapid?" said Joe, after an
+early camp on the portage, as we went
+down to look at the boiling cauldron below,
+"I tink I always remember him.
+One time I work in a shanty back on dat
+leetle stream we pass dis afternoon. De
+shanty was mos' ready to break up, and
+good many de men was go down on de
+drive. Dere was only one foreman for
+all de gangs, 'cause so many men been
+laid off. Dat mornin' de foreman tell dis
+man 'I want you for do dis,' an' dose men
+'I want you for do dat,' sen' dis man here
+and dat man dere, an' he pick six men an'
+he say 'I want you for take de batteau—dat's
+de big row-boat—'wid forty-five
+chains, to de gang for fix de boom in de
+pond down below,' and he say 'Dat rapid
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_276' name='Page_276' href='#Page_276'>276</a></span>
+dere, don' none you dam fools try for run
+him. I tell you dat batteau ain't like de
+canoe, an' de chains won't help you swim;
+so I want you for portage de whole t'ing.'
+So de men take de batteau, and de foreman
+say, 'You, Joe, you an' your chum
+an' Big Jule, you take de big canoe, an'
+you go down for help on de boom.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So we start an' follow de batteau, an'
+of course you can't see ver' far in de
+river, he is so crooked. I was in de bow,
+an' I see dem men in de batteau, 'bout
+two acres ahead, 'fore we get to de bend.
+Well, we come to de head dis portage and
+we see nobody dere. I take out my pack
+an' put de tump-line on my head, an' my
+chum say 'Dem fellers make de portage
+pretty quick.' I go down wid my pack,
+and start up de portage once more, for
+bring de canoe, me an' Big Jule. W'en
+I get to de head of de portage, my chum,
+he come run up all out of breat', an' he
+say 'I see a hat an' a oar in de water down
+by de foot de rapid!'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Den I know w'at's de matter. Me
+an' Big Jule we have de canoe on our heads
+for carry it down de portage, but we don't
+say one word. We jus' turn de canoe
+down and I jump in de bow, an' my chum
+in the middle, an' Big Jule for steer, an'
+we run de rapid. We t'ink maybe somebody
+hang on de rock; but fore we know
+it we strike jus' where dey strike, on a side
+jam w'ere de logs pile up. I jump out,
+an' my chum he jump out, an' we catch
+de canoe an' let her swing, an we holler
+to Jule to jump, an he jump jus' in time
+I tell you, for the canoe go under de jam
+an' smash, cr-r-ack all to piece. I never
+so near de en' of my life till I die, sure.
+Well, we go back an' tell de foreman, and
+he sen' some men for shut down de dam,
+up in de lac, an' we look for dem feller
+four days. We look way down below,
+but we no fine 'em, an' de mornin' de fift'
+day, I was stan' up in de bow, an' I see
+black spot come up an' bob up an down
+in de eddy right down dere, an' in fifteen
+minute we have dem six feller out on dis
+san' bar. Dey was all in a bunch. It
+was hot, and dey look awful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, sir, after dat you not hear one
+word in de shanty at night. De mens
+come in, an' dey jus' sit an' say not one
+word, an' good many de young lads git
+fright, an' leave de drive an go home. O,
+I t'ink I remember dis rapid pretty sure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe's boyhood experience of the Gatineau
+stood us in good stead all the way
+down. He remembered perfectly all the
+rapids, knew which could be run and
+which could not. "W'en you see de
+swells run black over de rock, don't you
+be fright' dat you strike," said he, "but
+if de water be white, den you look out."
+And he showed how, along the edge of
+the rough water, there is often a liquid path,
+not more than the width of the canoe,
+which may be followed with perfect safety.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another half-day's run brought us to a
+lumber shanty, with its tell-tale smoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Quay!" shouted the cook, which is
+good Algonquin for "Hello!" And then
+I realized that weeks of constant out-of-door
+existence had transformed me into a
+good enough imitation of an Indian to deceive
+a lumberman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't I know you?" asked Joe of
+the cook, not deigning to reply in the
+Algonquin tongue. And then the white
+man on shore and the half-red man in the
+stern of the canoe recognized each other
+as camp-mates on some by-gone excursion
+down the river in escort of a few thousand
+logs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What shanty you from?" asked the
+cook, turning to me inquiringly. "Didn't
+I see you with Gilmour's boss last year?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Explanations followed, and the canoe
+which had come all the way around from
+Mattawa secured the undivided attention
+of the lumber crew when they came to
+supper that evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day brought us down to the
+Desert village, where we left my beloved
+canoe on the bank, and took a stage
+coach.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we carried the luggage to the village
+hotel, at three o'clock on the afternoon of
+October 30th, the first flakes of snow began
+to float softly down, and the splendid
+Canadian summer was at an end.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-019" id="i-019"></a>
+<img src="images/i-019.png" width="354" height="125" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">On Lake Kippewa.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_277' name='Page_277' href='#Page_277'>277</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+FRANCISCO AND FRANCISCA
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Grace Ellery Channing</span>
+<br />
+<span class="smcap s06">Illustrations by Walter Appleton Clark</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapi.png" width="103" height="106" alt="I" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">
+"It is not a place for everyone,"
+said the priest, quietly,
+as he led the way under
+drooping peppers. "These
+children are orphans of
+good family. Their excellent
+mother died a year ago; but they are
+poor, and I have promised to find them a
+guest to fill their bedroom. A few dollars
+will be a blessing to them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His glance, practised in such measurement,
+added—"And you are a gentleman—a
+man to be trusted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The house is plain but comfortable.
+Francisca, like her mother, is an admirable
+housekeeper," he remarked as he led
+his guest into the paradise of roses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor, noting the sweet unkemptness
+of it, had his New England
+doubts, but he had none when Francisco,
+bareheaded, warm, and beautiful, came up
+from irrigating the oranges, "kissed the
+hands" of the Professor, and turning his
+own supple palms outward made him a
+present of the house and all in it, which
+at that moment included Francisca, standing
+under the roses of the porch, and
+more beautiful even than Francisco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The professional ears were pricked at
+the soft organ-tones of speech. If he
+should not decide to take the Chair, at
+least his time need not be lost, he argued.
+That, indeed, had been his motive for
+seeking a Spanish household.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he packed his trunk in Boston a
+Spanish dictionary was included, as became
+a professor of languages; and now as he
+unpacked it in the little roof-bedroom with
+the red, round eyes of oranges staring
+levelly in, and a drifting cascade of perfume
+and green and white outside, he was
+well content.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps it was that foreign ancestress
+of his, to whom he was fond of ascribing
+his bent for languages, who made this
+foreign corner of his own country so instantly
+attractive to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he went downstairs later he
+stepped into an open world. There were
+untold windows, all wide to the air, and
+through the green curtains of vines nodded
+the heads of many roses. Francisca, and
+the ancient relative to whom the orphans
+gave a home, and who served as a nominal
+duenna, were giving the last touches
+to a table laid in the corner of the broad
+veranda, which ran about three sides of
+the house. The grassy space it enclosed
+was of brave Bermuda, brown, but never-dying,
+and returning green thanks for a
+cupful of water. The Professor's foot
+came to love the touch of that thick carpet
+in after days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Beyond, the orange-grove stretched to
+the lime-hedge, and over that the peppers
+drooped their ferny branches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing in all the place was trimmed.
+Where the long trailing arms of the Lady
+Banksia fell by their own weight, or
+clambered by their own daring, there they
+remained. The Professor stooped under
+the same trailing branch each time he
+passed around the veranda. A dozen
+times he took out his knife impatiently to
+cut it, but an involuntary compunction arrested
+his hand. It was so in keeping
+with the place—it was so in keeping with
+Francisco and Francisca.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with an incredible ease and swiftness,
+the Professor found himself growing
+in keeping, too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In another corner of the deep rose-covered
+veranda all his writing materials
+quickly congregated. An Indian basket
+of oranges stood on the little stand by the
+hammock's elbow, near the rocking-chair
+in which Francisca sat daily, converting
+fine linen into finer lace, and cultivating
+the Professor's Spanish at the same time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisca "kept the house," not with
+semi-yearly upheavals and the terrible
+cleanliness of the Professor's ancestral
+memories, but in a leisurely, sweet fashion
+of her own, leaving much to the sun and
+air, ignoring brasses and other troublous
+matters, perhaps, but never failing—wise
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_278' name='Page_278' href='#Page_278'>278</a></span>
+Francisca!—to put a rose in her hair,
+and to set hot, savoury dishes with tropical
+names before her men-folk. Therefore
+no man ever found a flaw in Francisca's
+housekeeping.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had there been twenty men beneath her
+roof, each would have been her peculiar
+care. Her manner to her young brother
+had a caressing sweetness which a New
+England girl would have kept for her lover
+or conscientiously forborne him—for his
+soul's sake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for Francisco, sixteen, brown, slender,
+wearing his peaked sombrero with
+consummate grace (a gift he shared in
+common with every wood-cutter and <i>ranchero</i>
+of the pure blood), he was the Professor's
+companion in every walk, every
+blood-stirring lope across the open <i>mesa</i>,
+every delicious climb up the chaparral-sided
+hills or the ferny cañons. The boy
+grew into his heart; and in return Francisco
+loved him as boys and Southerners
+can love, with adoration.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was only a short time after he came
+among them that the Professor stopped
+one morning on his way out of the breakfast-room
+(in which they never breakfasted!)
+to examine a quaint inlaid guitar,
+hanging by faded ribbons against the
+wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is Francisco's," said Francisca.
+"He plays beautifully; but he has never
+played since our mother died—he hung it
+here then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is not well," said the Professor.
+"You should win him to play again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening, in the moonlight on the
+porch, Francisca laid a tender hand upon
+her brother's head as he sat on the step
+below. Her hands seemed made for such
+a purpose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco, the Señor asks if you never
+mean to play your guitar again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco was silent a moment, looking
+at the stars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps," he replied. "Some day,
+when we are very happy again—not yet."
+Then turning his head, he touched the
+caressing hand lightly with his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"At thy wedding—or mine—<i>querida</i>,"
+he said, lightly, and rising abruptly, went
+into the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He cannot bear yet to hear her spoken
+of," said Francisca, following him with
+moist eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I was—ahem!—very fond of my
+mother. She died when I was a boy,"
+said the Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But ours was with us only a little year
+ago. She sat where you sit, and looked at
+us with her beautiful soft eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you—you had not even a sister."
+Francisca looked at him as if she would
+like to make up that deficiency of tenderness—perhaps
+to stroke <i>his</i> head, as she
+did Francisco's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was abundant leisure for the Professor's
+studies, for the long, gorgeous
+wonderland of summer was upon them,
+and most people were at Santa Catalina,
+or in the high Sierras, taking an exchange
+of paradises.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The days rounded through their delicious
+sequence of perfumed dawns alive
+with birds, and middays of still air and
+shadowed lawns, to the infinite twilights
+and great moons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the evenings—the evenings of Southern
+California—they sat out under the
+vines, watching these enormous yellow
+and orange moons, and Francisca sang
+Californian songs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the days passed; punctuated by
+a talk with the Padre, a ride, a stroll, or
+some playful share in the labor of irrigating
+the oranges—the one form of labor
+Francisco ever seemed engaged in; but
+these he irrigated perpetually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor missed nothing; he desired
+nothing. The intoxication of living
+in close touch with the sun and air, and
+Earth in her summer mood, has never been
+half told. Every fibre of his being rejoiced
+in that long summer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little ranch of five acres—all that
+remained of five hundred—was large
+enough to hold his content. We do not
+know that the Garden of Eden was larger.
+He wrote hopefully to the Faculty concerning
+that Chair, and with laudable
+moderation to his principal correspondent
+in the East: "California has a charm
+impossible to analyze. I wish you were
+here." And then he paused, pondered,
+and carefully erased the last sentence, but
+not so perfectly but that Miss Dysart by
+dint of holding it up to the window-pane
+deciphered it, and sat biting her pencil
+gravely a space thereafter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To wake in the morning and know the
+sun would shine all day; not to be withered
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_279' name='Page_279' href='#Page_279'>279</a></span>
+by the heat or chilled by the wind,
+but subtly flattered and caressed by a climate
+which was only another Francisca;
+to be wooed to large thoughts and visions
+by the landscape; not to feel the press
+and friction of a narrow life and arbitrary
+customs, and yet to be conscious through
+all this space and tranquillity of the forward
+impetus of a vigorous young life all
+about him—this sufficed. The opportunities
+for usefulness were great in a place
+destined to detain every soul who lingered
+a rash year within its borders—and to
+make of the next generation natives.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In lieu of caressing the land itself, he
+often caressed Francisco, its breathing
+type, drawing the lad to him with an arm
+about his slender shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Francisca, the other breathing
+type, regarded them both with that smile
+of tenderness which has in it so much of
+the maternal. When all is said, the wisest
+man remains something of a child to any
+woman, though she is but an inexperienced
+girl, and he may have forgotten
+more out of books than she will ever
+know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day Francisco, running lightly up
+the path and steps to where Francisca sat
+filling a bowl with roses, and the Professor
+sat watching her, dropped an envelope
+upon the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is all your mail, Señor," said
+Francisco, gayly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor opened, glanced, and fell
+into a brown study, from which he woke
+to encounter Francisca's eyes over the
+bowl of roses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is anything the matter?" asked those
+eyes anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing," the Professor replied to
+them. "An old friend of mine is coming
+out unexpectedly—is on her way to Santa
+Barbara."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is pleasant for you," said Francisca,
+sweetly. "And the days are cooler;
+she will be sure to like our country."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She is coming to-morrow," said the
+Professor, rising abruptly. "I must go
+at once to the hotel."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We will send many roses to her room;
+and Francisco shall pick the large Indian
+basket full of fruit—she will be so tired
+with the long journey."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you," murmured the Professor,
+vaguely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not hear Francisca's caution
+to her brother: "Do not pick any of the
+heliotrope, Francisco, for the heavy scent
+may be disagreeable to an old lady—and
+only the very choicest peaches—old people
+must be careful what they eat." But
+this was not needed for his confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How well you are looking!" exclaimed
+Miss Dysart, as she stepped from
+the train the next morning, with a critical
+glance at the Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The only climate on earth," replied
+the Professor, laughing to hide a shade of
+embarrassment; "and you—you are looking
+well, too."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Distinctly well, in her immaculate shirtwaist
+and sailor-hat, without touch of travel
+or dust about her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, all climates suit me—even our
+own," Miss Dysart answered, lightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Only one trunk, thank you; I am a
+'transient.' And so this is your earthly
+paradise. Is that ferny thing a pepper-tree?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was so much absorbed in the landscape
+all through the short drive that the
+Professor ended by feeling quite at his
+ease. At the hotel door she dismissed
+him graciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You may come back after lunch, if
+you like, and show me something of your
+paradise."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course," said the Professor with
+unnecessary alacrity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he walked back he had a sensation
+as if a cool breeze from the Back Bay, at
+once bracing and chilling, had suddenly
+begun to blow across the summer air. The
+same sensation recurred later in the day
+when he found himself strolling with her
+under the drooping peppers to the Mission
+and through the town. Had they not
+often planned it—ages ago?—or had
+not <i>he</i> planned it in his mind—at least it
+had been tacitly understood, and—here
+it was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was looking admirably, too. The
+little precision of her starched collar and
+cuffs, and severe hat and correct gown,
+were an echo of his native city. She was
+the best type of the things he liked and
+approved and believed in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And her mood was the bright mood of
+comradeship he always enjoyed. She
+faced the semi-tropical world with fresh,
+appreciative eyes, and her sense of humor
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_280' name='Page_280' href='#Page_280'>280</a></span>
+was like his native air re-breathed.
+So singly did the place occupy her that the
+Professor expanded gradually and his
+tongue lost its knot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you regret nothing here?" said
+Miss Dysart at last, suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing," replied the Professor, emphatically—and
+stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is what it is to have a foreign
+grandmother. You do not even miss the
+symphony concerts—the Greek play—the
+Sunday afternoons."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor laughed rather drearily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is the same thing, I suppose, which
+leads the scarlet geranium to be a climber
+here, and calla-lilies to grow wild, and
+heliotrope to run up to the house-eaves.
+What a poem of a place!" she exclaimed,
+stopping. "And what a beautiful creature!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is—er—where I am staying," replied
+the Professor, all his impediments
+returned. "That is Francisco—he <i>is</i> a
+handsome lad; and that is his sister, Miss
+Francisca, on the veranda. Pray come in
+and see the roses."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart followed him with composure,
+and gave her gloved hand cordially
+to Francisca.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have heard so much of your paradise,"
+she said, "but I did not know it
+could be so true."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bewildered expression crossed Francisca's
+face as the two advanced, but it
+passed, and her manner was as perfect as
+Miss Dysart's own. So was Francisco's,
+who placed a chair, and drew a rose-branch
+to shield the visitor's eyes from
+the sun—his own reflecting the blankness
+of Francisca's. Francisca had to call
+him twice to pass the wine she poured in
+the quaint old glasses, and which they
+could never conceivably be too poor to
+offer a guest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Miss Dysart sat sipping her wine
+politely—she was not fond of wine—she
+felt, as she looked, like one in a foreign
+land. The Professor, seated discreetly behind,
+noted this with a smile. But Francisco
+and Francisca were as much a part
+of the landscape as any rose in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conversation turned, as conversations
+infallibly will, to the transcontinental
+journey, with the "You remember this—you
+saw that" of travellers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco and Francisca listened silently,
+only when Miss Dysart turned to
+the latter, she said with a kind of proud
+humility: "Ah! I know nothing of these
+things. I only know—this," with a gesture
+about her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart and the Professor looked at
+her, and the value of "these things" was
+differently visible in their eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How beautiful she is!" thought the
+Boston girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How much she knows and has seen!"
+thought Francisca.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor's thoughts are not recorded.
+What he said was playful, but
+with an undertone which was not lost on
+one of his hearers. "'These things' are
+not worth your rose-garden, Miss Francisca—saying
+nothing of the rest of the
+<i>rancho</i>."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah! it is nice of you to say so," replied
+Francisca, "but I do not believe it—nor
+does Miss Dysart."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart kept her lids discreetly
+lowered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"By the way," she said, "I have someone
+to thank for a portion of a rose-garden
+myself. I don't suppose the hotels
+furnish that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Miss Francisca—" began the enlightened
+Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Señor," interposed Francisca,
+quickly, "naturally wished you to have a
+Californian welcome. Francisco and I
+carried them down for him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time Miss Dysart raised her lids
+and looked straight at the girl before her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you," she said, quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But if you care for roses," said Francisca,
+rising, "you must look at ours in
+the garden. We are proud of our roses,
+though it is not the rose season," she
+added; "for that you must come in April
+and May."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks!" exclaimed Miss Dysart,
+"but when one is used to one's roses by
+the half-dozen, this will do!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You shall have as many as you like
+every day, of course," said Francisca.
+"Or, perhaps," she added, quietly, "you
+will like to come and gather them yourself.
+The garden is yours."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Gather ye roses while ye may!'—you
+are most kind. I will take this one
+now, if I may," replied Miss Dysart, bending
+above a great white Lyonnaise.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-024" id="i-024"></a>
+<img src="images/i-024.png" width="472" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">And now as he unpacked it ... he was well content.—<a href="#Page_277">Page 277</a>.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+"Just the rose I should expect you to
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_281' name='Page_281' href='#Page_281'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_282' name='Page_282' href='#Page_282'>282</a></span>
+choose," said the Professor, cutting it for
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pray, why?" inquired Miss Dysart a
+little sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is such a calm, vigorous, upright
+rose—a kind of apotheosis of our own New
+England roses. A well-bred rose; it does
+not straggle, nor shed its petals untidily.
+It would not look out of place in Boston;—and
+it has not too much color."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You prefer these, I suppose," remarked
+the girl, coolly, glancing at his
+hand. The Professor looked down
+guiltily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have been gleaming after you ladies.
+This is your Mermet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you!" replied Miss Dysart
+dryly replacing the pink bud in her belt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the red rose remained in his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart turned away abruptly.
+"What a place for a Flower Mission!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisca looked puzzled. "Flower
+Mission—what is that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The depth of your ignorance, Miss
+Francisca!" exclaimed the Professor.
+"You see, Mildred, Nature runs a Flower
+Mission on such a large scale that she
+deprives us of that—as well as many other
+legitimate philanthropies."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah!" said Francisca, "now I do
+know what a Flower Mission is. It must
+be very helpful. And we do so little
+good with all these—only to dress the
+church."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And welcome strangers," suggested
+Miss Dysart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My sister is always giving flowers
+away, and fruit," declared Francisco.
+"The Señor and the Padre know if that
+is true."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But only for pleasure, thou foolish
+one," said Francisca, smiling at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco did not smile back. He remained
+grave, and bowed their guest
+farewell, with his <i>caballero</i> air, without a
+word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a beautiful, solemn boy!" exclaimed
+Miss Dysart as she walked down
+the street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco? Oh, he can be merry
+enough; you must allow for the effect of
+a visitor from Boston."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pray let poor Boston alone! What an
+absolute partisan you have become!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have I? Perhaps it is only my mean
+effort to hide our consciousness of inferiority.
+We have no Missions here—except
+Franciscan ones."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We! our!" repeated Miss Dysart,
+emphatically. "Have you ceased to be
+a New Englander already? Is this the
+effect of this remarkable climate?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am afraid—it is," replied the Professor,
+meekly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as he walked home that eastern
+breeze blew more keenly still. As one
+turns to the sun, he turned to the house
+hopefully. Only Francisco was still sitting
+on the top step gazing gloomily into
+space. The Professor laid an affectionate
+hand on the boy's shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is the matter, Francisco? Are
+you not well?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There is nothing, Señor," was the
+melancholy reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor fidgetted restlessly about
+the veranda and lawn, feeling as if the
+whole place had been subtly changed.
+There was no Spanish that afternoon,
+either; Francisca was apparently too busy,
+for she did not come out at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the evening, however, she was idle
+enough. Francisco and she sat on the
+steps and watched the moonlight make
+patterns on the walk below. The Professor
+had gone to call on Miss Dysart,
+inwardly reviling the social necessity which
+demanded starched linen and a black coat
+on such a night. It was still early when
+Francisca with some light word of excuse,
+and the little caress to her brother
+nothing could have made her forget, rose
+and went in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not even late when the Professor
+with eager feet came up the path, all inlaid
+with the ferny tracery of shadows
+from the pepper-boughs. The veranda,
+apparently deserted, greeted him silently,
+and he stood a moment battling with an
+immense disappointment. It seemed to
+him that he had lost forever an evening
+out of his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly he mounted the steps, and on the
+threshold he paused again. A long tendril
+of the Banksia swayed in the half-shadow,
+and surely his ears caught a suppressed
+sobbing breath. He made one
+step toward it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisca!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is I, Señor," replied the melancholy
+voice of Francisco; and the boy
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_283' name='Page_283' href='#Page_283'>283</a></span>
+came forward into the moonlight. "Did
+you wish anything, Señor?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing," replied the Professor, mendaciously,
+his cheeks warm in the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-night, Francisco!"
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-026" id="i-026"></a>
+<img src="images/i-026.png" width="287" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Francisca "kept the house."—<a href="#Page_277">Page 277</a>.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+"Good-night, Señor!" returned the
+boy in the same melancholy tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Long after the Professor's light was extinguished,
+the lad lay watching the night
+away in the hammock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stamp of that vigil was on his face
+the next morning when he asked the Professor
+to advise him as to some orange-trees
+at the farther end of the ranch.
+The Professor, who had also passed a
+white night, gave a haggard consent.
+Francisca alone appeared fresh and smiling.
+The best artists do not adorn the
+stage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There seemed nothing particular the
+matter with the grove, when they had
+reached it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Which are the trees in question?"
+asked the Professor, who at that moment
+wished all oranges in a climate much too
+tropical for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Señor," replied Francisco, facing him—and
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_284' name='Page_284' href='#Page_284'>284</a></span>
+it struck the Professor the boy had
+grown tall overnight—"do you love my
+sister?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco!" exclaimed the Professor,
+violently, and the blood began to pound
+in his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must know, Señor. When you spoke
+of an old friend, we thought, Francisca
+and I, of an old woman—and now here
+has come this young lady from your home,
+one of your people—and she calls you
+by your name, and you call her by hers.
+She has come because she cares for you,
+and you spend your time with her, and
+yet, Señor, you gave her back her rose
+and kept my sister's!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a guilty movement of the
+Professor's hand toward his breast-pocket,
+instantly checked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When you came home last night you
+called my sister by name. Señor, this
+cannot be! I am not jealous; you have
+a right to love this other, but I must know.
+I do not say for a moment," he added,
+proudly, "that Francisca has thought of
+you, but she is very young. She might
+come to care, and—I will not have it so!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco!" exclaimed the Professor
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We are poor now," said Francisco,
+lifting his head, "but my people were
+great people when yours, Señor—the
+Americans—were nobody!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Professor,
+sharply, catching at a tangible point of
+remonstrance with relief. "My people
+were never 'nobody'—they were New
+Englanders."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco," said the Professor, in a
+different tone, "I thought you loved me—I
+thought you trusted me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What has that to do with it, Señor?"
+inquired Francisco, sternly. "It is of
+my sister I think. If you do not love her
+you must go away at once."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I will be answerable to your sister
+only," began the Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pardon me, Señor, you will be answerable
+to <i>me</i>. I am the head of the
+family. Francisca is only a child," said
+this other child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor was silent. When he
+spoke, at last, he was answering himself
+rather than Francisco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I will go!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco winced, but did not flinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He made a gesture for the Professor
+to lead the way back, which the Professor
+did like a blind man. He could not
+have told whether his bitterness was toward
+the boy or himself. Half way he
+stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What am I to tell her?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can have business—and she will
+understand."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor ground his teeth, and
+going to his room, began grimly flinging
+things into his trunk. He was furious
+with Francisco, with himself, with the
+climate which could lead a man to this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He ate his lunch in silence. So did
+Francisco. Men have these refuges.
+Francisca the woman, with a thread of
+speech, kept that silence from bursting.
+After lunch the Professor finished packing,
+wrote a brief note declining the Chair,
+and went down to buy his ticket. All the
+way down the landscape cried out to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he left the station with his ticket in
+his hand he encountered Miss Dysart on
+the threshold with her purse in hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is the matter?" she exclaimed,
+after one glance. "Where are you going?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Home," answered the Professor. "I
+was coming to tell you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart opened her lips, then
+closed them again, and turning without
+a word they walked on until the bend of
+the road threw them from the town into
+the country lane. There she stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Why</i> are you going? You must have
+reasons."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have reasons—" He stopped,
+smitten with the conscious absurdity that
+she who was his principal reason had
+scarcely crossed his mind all day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Business—it—it is impossible for me
+to stay," he wound up, lamely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Why</i> is it impossible?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor looked at her and anathematised
+the climate again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I—really cannot explain, Mildred,"
+he said. "But there are reasons why—I
+feel obliged to go."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-028" id="i-028"></a>
+<img src="images/i-028.png" width="359" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Drawn by Walter Appleton Clark.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">Francisco and Francisca listened silently.—Page 280.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Miss Dysart's cheeks flushed, and she
+looked a moment at the wide valley before
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I feel that you are making the mistake
+of your life," she said, in a low
+voice.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_285' name='Page_285' href='#Page_285'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_286' name='Page_286' href='#Page_286'>286</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-029" id="i-029"></a>
+<img src="images/i-029.png" width="550" height="549" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">He could not have told whether his bitterness was toward the boy or himself.—<a href="#Page_284">Page 284</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+The Professor made a vague gesture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you will not go," she said, quietly.
+"You will think better of it. You
+will not do yourself so much wrong."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall go. I have bought my ticket."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I will buy it of you. I was on the
+way to buy one myself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You were—!" He looked at her
+in his turn. "We shall travel together,
+then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall do nothing of the kind.
+What is the use? If you go back you
+will simply break down again. You have
+your work here. You love this country."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor's eyes swept mutely over
+the valley and hills, and the girl watched
+him jealously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You love it more than New England,"
+she said, with a touch of bitterness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Differently!" exclaimed the poor
+Professor; "differently!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You love it <i>more</i>," persisted the New
+England girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor drew a long breath.
+"Can I help it? One is affection—fondness;
+the other—" He stopped abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her lips were closed tightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, you will suffer intolerable homesickness—you
+are homesick <i>now</i>. And
+then it is <i>all</i> of no use—Everard, you must
+stay; you must think better of it. Stay
+and take that Chair! There cannot be
+any business so pressing. It will be no
+use—not the slightest use for you to go."
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_287' name='Page_287' href='#Page_287'>287</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her earnestness she put her hand on
+his, but instantly withdrew it. Her troubled
+eyes looked straight into his, and the
+Professor's looked straightly back. But
+he shook his head, and suddenly she
+looked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I," she answered, lightly; "I am
+a thorough-going dyed-in-the-wool New-Englander.
+I was brought up to go to
+church on Sunday and clean house twice
+a year, and have a proper respect for calling
+cards. I shall go on and join aunty
+at Santa Barbara, and get home in time
+for all my clubs and classes. Besides, I
+have been meaning to tell you, I am
+going to take a year in the College Settlement."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A year in the College Settlement!"
+echoed the Professor, vaguely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes; that will suit me better than—this.
+Don't forget to send Francisco
+with the ticket! Good-by!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gave him her hand frankly, and
+once more their eyes encountered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If I had had a French grandmother,
+you see—it might have been different
+with me," she said with a touch of mirthfulness.
+"And <i>that</i> at least is true," she
+concluded to herself, looking so straight
+ahead that she walked a space beyond
+the hotel without seeing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor, going in the opposite
+direction, went like a man under sentence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That "intolerable homesickness" was
+already upon him; but he was determined
+to go. He, too, was a New Englander.
+It is a great thing to have inherited
+principles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was determined to go—all the way
+up under the hanging peppers—all the
+way beside the scented limes; nor did his
+determination falter as he turned into the
+accustomed path under the oranges, and
+the sight and perfume of a thousand roses
+stormed him all at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There in the wonted place Francisca
+sat, steadily drawing the threads with
+unsteady fingers. Her lips might be a
+little pale, but they smiled. Even the
+rose was not missing from her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisco, perfectly miserable and perfectly
+proud, rose mutely from the steps
+to salute the Señor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Señor with two gentle hands lifted
+the boy from his path, and made two steps
+to the chair—one touch drew the lace
+from the brave fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisca," said the Professor.
+"Francisca—Francisca!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the only explanation he ever
+made, but in fact it was a perfect statement
+of the case.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If it needed any elaboration it might
+be held to receive it when Francisca,
+stooping—long afterward—to recover the
+abused lace, picked up with it something
+else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is this?" she said, a little
+puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, that," said the Professor, "that
+is Miss Dysart's ticket! She is going
+away to-morrow."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah!" said Francisca only.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Francisco is to take it to her, and by
+the way, where is the dear lad?" He
+made a movement to rise, but Francisca
+stopped him, raising his hand in hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Out on the twilight air already heavy
+with sweet odors, came floating the sound
+of a guitar, low, but inexpressibly joyous
+and tender.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francisca's eyes filled with tears, but
+"<i>Caro</i> Francisco!" she only said.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-030" id="i-030"></a>
+<img src="images/i-030.png" width="298" height="150" alt="Decoration" />
+</div> <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-031" id="i-031"></a>
+<img src="images/i-031.png" width="314" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Drawn by Henry Hutt.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">"Where the musk-rat swims, and the cat-tails sway."—<a href="#Page_289">Page 289</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_288' name='Page_288' href='#Page_288'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_289' name='Page_289' href='#Page_289'>289</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-032a" id="i-032a"></a>
+<img src="images/i-032aalt.png" width="1266" height="1012" alt="Fishing Decorations" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<h2>
+THE OLD HOME HAUNTS
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By F. Colburn Clarke</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>There's a sound that rings in my ears to-day,</p>
+<p class="i2">That echoes in vague refrain,</p>
+<p>The ripple of water o'er smooth-washed clay,</p>
+<p>Where the wall-eyed pike and the black bass play,</p>
+<p>That makes me yearn, in a quiet way,</p>
+<p class="i2">For my old fly-rod again.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">Back to the old home haunts again,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back where the clear lake lies;</p>
+<p class="i3">Back through the woods</p>
+<p class="i3">Where the blackbird broods,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to my rod and flies.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I'm longing to paddle the boat to-day,</p>
+<p class="i2">Through water-logged grass and reeds;</p>
+<p>Where the musk-rat swims, and the cat-tails sway;</p>
+<p>Where the air is cool, and the mist is gray;</p>
+<p>Where ripples dance in the same old way,</p>
+<p class="i2">Under the tangled weeds.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">Back on the old oak log again,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back by the crystal brook;</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to the bait,</p>
+<p class="i3">And the silent wait,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to my line and hook.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I wish I could wade by the water's edge,</p>
+<p class="i2">Where the fallen leaves drift by;</p>
+<p>Just to see, in the shadow of the ledge,</p>
+<p>How dark forms glide, like a woodman's wedge,</p>
+<p>Through driftwood piles and the coarse marsh sedge,</p>
+<p class="i2">And to hear the bittern cry.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">Back where the tadpoles shift and sink,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back where the bull-frogs sob;</p>
+<p class="i3">Back just to float</p>
+<p class="i3">In the leaky boat,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to my dripping bob.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh, it's just like this on each misty day,</p>
+<p class="i2">It's always the same old pain</p>
+<p>That struggles and pulls in the same old way</p>
+<p>To carry me off for a little stay</p>
+<p>By the water's edge, in sticky clay,</p>
+<p class="i2">To fish in the falling rain.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">Back to my long black rubber boots,</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to my old patched coat;</p>
+<p class="i3">Back to my rod</p>
+<p class="i3">And the breath of God—</p>
+<p class="i3">Home—and my leaky boat.</p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-032b" id="i-032b"></a>
+<img src="images/i-032balt.png" width="1266" height="931" alt="Fishing Decorations" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_290' name='Page_290' href='#Page_290'>290</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-033" id="i-033"></a>
+<img src="images/i-033.png" width="499" height="183" alt="Decoration" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<h2 class="postDeco">
+THE EDUCATION OF PRAED
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Albert White Vorse</span>
+<br />
+<span class="smcap s06">Illustrations by Henry McCarter</span>.
+</h2>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapd.png" width="103" height="103" alt="D" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">Daniel Webster cut
+from the seal a morsel of
+meal eight inches long by
+two inches square. He
+crowded out of sight as
+much of the delicacy as
+his mouth and part of his œsophagus
+would hold—about six inches—and sliced
+off the visible two inches with a blow of
+his knife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never knew before," commented
+Praed, "why the Eskimo nose was so
+snubby. I now see it all. It is a beautiful
+example of the law of survival. If you
+touch an Eskimo anywhere, you draw
+blood. The long-nosed men of the Stone
+Age slashed their skins at meal-times and
+died of hemorrhage. Only the short-nosed
+men could live. Even Daniel carves
+perilously close to his lovely snub—and if
+Daniel's nose were a little shorter it would
+be a cavity."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just so," I replied, indifferently.
+Praed's jaunty talk jarred upon me, and
+his superior tone toward the Eskimos displeased
+me. He was attached to the
+Relief Party as botanist. I believe he was
+a Professor of Natural History in some
+Western college. He had climbed a mountain
+in the Canadian Rockies, a minor
+peak, no difficult ascent. I am told that
+a carriage road has recently been opened
+to the summit. But the mountain was a
+virgin peak and bore a living glacier, and
+Praed wrote for the papers about it and
+made a great achievement of his exploit.
+Upon the strength of his reputation he assumed
+to direct the policy of the Relief
+Expedition, and when the leader refused to
+fall in with his views, Praed grumbled, and
+once or twice approached open insubordination.
+The leader, a modest fellow, took
+his unruly botanist quietly, but several
+members of the party told me the man
+worried him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, when it suited his purpose,
+Praed could be humble enough. He discovered
+my irritation at once and evidently
+thought to soothe it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, come now, old fellow," he said.
+"Don't take your Eskimos too seriously;
+I admire them as much as you do. Here,
+Daniel—Dahlgren, how do you say 'I like
+you' in Husky-tongue?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Iblee pee-yook amishuwa</i>," answered I,
+in the pidgin-Eskimo we had learned to
+use during our year in the Far North.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Iblee kumook amistwa</i>," repeated
+Praed. Daniel received the communication
+with that heavy gravity which had
+won him his nick-name; his birth-name
+was Meeoo. Praed shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never shall learn the lingo," he
+sighed. "Tell him I am going to give
+him this knife."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Ooma pilletay iblee savik</i>," I translated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daniel received the knife without comment.
+I caught a flash of pleasure in his
+eye, but it escaped Praed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He doesn't seem very grateful," he
+said. "I despair of the aborigine. He
+has no sense of humor, no gratitude, apparently
+no more affection than his dogs.
+He is pure selfishness. He is homely, he
+is fearfully unclean—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Professor Praed," I interrupted, "you
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_291' name='Page_291' href='#Page_291'>291</a></span>
+arrived in Greenland three days ago. After
+you have knocked about with these fellows
+for a month you will change your opinions.
+As for dirt, eight or nine months in every
+year that bay is skimmed over with a little
+matter of five or six feet of ice. Until
+your party came, there was not a hatchet
+in the tribe to cut baths. In winter all
+these little streams that you see disappear.
+The Husky has to melt ice for drinking-water,
+and that is no light affair for him.
+In summer, it's true, he might bathe; perhaps
+you would like to try it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Those are all very well as excuses,"
+responded Praed; "but they don't remove
+facts. Your dear friends are disgustingly
+soiled. And I am going to accept your
+invitation to take a bath."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did accept it. He said he was accustomed
+to cold water, every morning
+(implying in his tone, that he feared I
+wasn't); that he had been baptized in the
+Susquehanna River through a hole in the
+ice, and that he guessed he could stand a
+summer sea in Greenland. He took off
+his clothes, swam out to a berg, grounded
+some forty feet off the beach, climbed hurriedly
+upon the ice, and danced up and
+down and shouted until we put off in a boat
+and rescued him. For three days afterward
+he shivered under blankets and drank
+up the little store of whiskey that remained
+in our supplies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was not sorry that this object-lesson
+had occurred. Our expedition had lived
+for nineteen months among the Eskimos.
+Two or three of us, whose chief duty was
+hunting, had learned to know the Innuit
+as one knows brothers. In a savage
+land you choose your friends, not because
+they can judge a picture or say witty
+things about their neighbors, but because
+they will go through any emergency by
+your side. More than once Daniel or one
+and another of our Eskimo comrades had
+saved us from death; more than once we
+had interposed between a Husky and the
+Kokoia. It was not pleasant to hear the
+cock-a-whoop members of the Relief
+Party, with their amateur knowledge of
+Arctic conditions, classify our comrades
+among the Greenland fauna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the Relief Party got on well with
+the Eskimos. They had a cargo of knives,
+hatchets, saws, needles, scissors, wooden
+staves, and all things that represent wealth
+to the Innuit. These things they distributed
+freely among the settlements; it
+was but natural that they should win the
+hearts of the Husky-folk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Praed reappeared after his chill with a
+triumphant air, bearing bead necklaces
+and mirrors—for trading, he said. The
+Eskimos, however, shook their heads at
+these gewgaws, and Praed had to fall back
+upon useful articles. He obtained for
+himself the office of chief distributor, and
+waxed popular in the tribe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day, a fortnight or so after the episode
+of the bath, Daniel's wife, Megipsu,
+came running up the beach.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The man with gifts is at my tupik.
+He desires something. I do not understand
+him. Will you come?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I found Praed holding out the skirt of
+his coat toward Megipsu's little daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Like this," he was repeating. "Make
+me a coat. Scion of a savage race, if I
+had you at home, I should chastise you.
+You are stupid."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The child stared blankly at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is it, Professor Praed?" I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His face turned red, and his reply came
+hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you see," he said, "your Greenland
+climate is not what I expected.
+When the wind is quiet, everything is
+warm. When the gale comes up in the
+afternoon, it is cold. Now the—the fur
+clothes; their odor is as the odor of abattoirs.
+At first I didn't comprehend the
+evident joy you have in them. But, on the
+whole, you seem so comfortable in all
+weathers, that I thought I'd try a suit myself.
+You see, I don't like to be lumbered
+with a leather jacket all the time."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hm!" reflected I, "Praed is learning
+his Greenland." All I suggested, however,
+was that if he minded the smell he
+might carry his leather coat out with him
+and leave it upon a rock until he should
+need it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And have it stolen," he said, with a
+glance of pity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I perceived that he had a great deal of
+Greenland yet to learn. The most northern
+Eskimos do not steal. I arranged with
+Megipsu for a sealskin suit, however, to
+cost two pairs of scissors, a packet of sail-needles,
+a hunting-knife, a cracker-box,
+and Praed's wooden signal-whistle, which
+Megipsu fancied. In a week the Professor
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_292' name='Page_292' href='#Page_292'>292</a></span>
+appeared in the silvery clothes. He
+was highly enthusiastic. I listened patiently
+while he explained the garments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see, when it is warm," he said,
+"I can loosen the draw-string and throw
+back the hood, and a draught of air comes
+in from the bottom and goes out at the
+neck and carries off the perspiration.
+When the wind rises, snap! I haul in
+the draw-string, cover my head, and I am
+hermetically sealed. Not a chill can
+touch me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Precisely," I agreed. I had been
+wearing Eskimo clothes for a year and
+two months. "I understand," I added,
+"that you are going oogsook-hunting with
+Meeoo."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," he laughed. "I'm going to
+show the untutored savage the superiority
+of the rifle over the harpoon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He learned more about Greenland
+upon that expedition. There was a floe,
+perhaps a mile wide, anchored near the
+mouth of the bay by half a dozen grounded
+bergs. To this floe the Eskimo and the
+white man set forth in kayaks. It was midnight
+when they left and we were asleep,
+but the Huskies at the village told us that
+the Professor couldn't manage his canoe,
+and finally had to permit Daniel to tow
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next night they returned with a seal.
+The Professor had many words of praise
+for a country where the sun never sets
+and there is no loss of working-time, but
+nothing to say about the hunting. At
+last he confessed that Daniel had killed
+the seal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The <i>phoca barbata</i> is a wary animal,"
+he protested. "He will not permit a
+white face to approach. Two or three of
+the creatures were taking sun-baths upon
+the floe, but before I could creep within
+shooting distance they flopped into the
+water—a most ungraceful gait. All Arctic
+animals seem to be clumsy. I fired at one
+seal and I think I hit him, but he, too, dived.
+At last I resigned the rifle to Daniel. The
+savage squirmed over the ice like a worm.
+When the seals lifted their heads, Daniel
+lifted his. It is not surprising that he deceived
+them. His black muzzle looks
+precisely like that of the seal, and he wears
+a seal's fur. But his methods would never
+do in civilization. It took him half a
+day to crawl across that ice-floe."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But he shot the seal," someone put in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," replied the Professor. "That's
+just the point. He wormed himself along
+until he could almost reach the creature,
+and then sprang upon it and clubbed it to
+death with the butt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I do not think Praed fully appreciated
+the marvellous adroitness of the hunter,
+nor the thoughtfulness of the man in saving
+a cartridge. He never seemed to
+comprehend that a charge of powder and
+bullet is worth more to an Eskimo than a
+diamond is to a bride at home. However,
+he began after that to treat the Huskies
+somewhat as if they were human beings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His complete enlightenment as to the
+Eskimo character came all in a blaze at the
+end of our stay in Greenland. Our work
+there was done. Our explorations had
+been successful, our scientific collections
+were almost completed. There were only
+the loose ends to be gathered up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor had seen some desirable
+flowers in a valley across a glacier. Near
+that same glacier, in the preceding summer,
+I, who was acting as mineralogist of
+the main party, had piled a few specimens
+in a cranny to be carried to camp later,
+and I thought I might as well have them.
+We started forth together. Daniel and one
+or two other Huskies went with us for
+comradeship.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the edge of the glacier we halted. It
+was a stupendous thing, crawling through
+a gap in the hills down into the sea like
+a section of the Midgard serpent. Halfway
+up the flank, I remember, there was
+a round hole, and out of it spouted a
+waterfall, red with basaltic mud. One of
+the Æsir might have made such a wound
+with his spear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The back of the monster was rugged
+with crevasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can't cross here," I counselled.
+"You'd better try farther up, where it's
+smoother. I'll climb the cliff and take an
+observation, while you wait here and eat
+your luncheon. It doesn't do to hurry
+too much in Greenland."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was almost an hour making my way
+up the crags to a point where I could take
+a bird's-eye view of the mass of ice. It
+was not a wide glacier—the cliffs opposite
+were not more than four miles away—but
+the great number of icebergs it threw off
+bore witness to the rapidity of its motion.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_293' name='Page_293' href='#Page_293'>293</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-036" id="i-036"></a>
+<img src="images/i-036.png" width="404" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">While he explained the garments.—<a href="#Page_292">Page 292</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, almost below me upon the
+blue-white ice, appeared four or five black
+figures. They emerged out of a cleft near
+the edge and marched steadily toward the
+centre of the glacier. The surface beyond
+them and upon either hand was criss-crossed
+with blue crevasses. Glints from
+the shining icicles hanging down their
+sides darted up to me as I stood, a mile
+away. It was very picturesque, but I had
+no heart for enjoyment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The man is crazy!" I burst out and
+scrambled down the rough stones to overtake
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a quarter of an hour I had reached
+the bottom of the gorge, between the glacier
+and the mountain. A furious torrent
+roared along the side of the ice, but a few
+pinnacles of rock protruding out of the
+stream gave foothold to cross. Opposite
+my landing-place a huge blue cleft in the
+ice, with a gradually rising peak, furnished
+easy ascent to the surface.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as my head was clear of the
+cleft, I saw one of the Eskimos running
+toward me. I hastened to meet him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pra' has fallen!" cried the man.
+"The ice has eaten him. He has gone
+to sleep forever."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Damnation!" I shouted. "Run to
+the ship. Tell all the white men to come
+and bring a rope!"
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-037" id="i-037"></a>
+<img src="images/i-037.png" width="600" height="475" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">I was ... making my way up the crags.—<a href="#Page_292">Page 292</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+He sped into the cleft and I moved on.
+Surmounting a mound in the ice, I could
+scan the whole surface. A quarter of a
+mile beyond me, the dark figures of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_294' name='Page_294' href='#Page_294'>294</a></span>
+party crouched beside a long narrow crevasse.
+As I drew near, the tall figure of
+the Professor rose and faced me. He
+made no move to meet me, and when I
+had approached within a few feet of him,
+I saw that his hands hung limp at his sides
+and that he was sobbing. He could not
+speak, but he pointed to the crevasse. I
+threw myself at full length upon the ice
+and peeped over the brink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A hundred feet below me, on the edge
+of a block of ice that hung unsteadily
+upon a mass of <i>débris</i>, lay Daniel. His
+head was doubled unnaturally forward
+upon his chest. The trash about him was
+stained with red. He must have died in
+an instant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One look was enough. I sprang to my
+feet and faced the Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did that happen?" I exclaimed.
+"Good God, man, speak! Don't act like
+a baby!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Praed burst out sobbing afresh. It was
+a moment before he could control his
+tongue. When he spoke he clinched his
+hands and gazed blankly up the glacier
+toward the sun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was I," he said; "he saved me. I
+fell—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?" I demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you see that shoulder of ice on this
+side of the crevasse, and the shelf jutting
+out opposite?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I peered over the edge once more. The
+wall hung slightly out at the top and I had
+a good view of everything beneath. The
+cleft was not more than five feet wide, but,
+except for the <i>débris</i> lodged below me, it
+sank away into darkness. It may have
+been a thousand feet deep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some twenty feet down the side a ledge,
+perhaps twelve inches broad, started from
+the wall. Upon the opposite wall, about
+six feet higher, as far as I could estimate,
+allowing for the foreshortening, there was
+another shelf, considerably broader. Upon
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_295' name='Page_295' href='#Page_295'>295</a></span>
+it sprang up the stumps of two or three
+heavy icicles that had grown down from an
+ice-bridge. Doubtless, anciently the <i>débris</i>
+caught below had been part of this bridge,
+and in its fall had carried the upper ends
+of the icicles with it. One end of the shelf
+slanted up almost to the surface.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I took this in at a glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," I said; "go on."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must confess from the beginning,"
+he proceeded, in a curious monotone, as
+if his body, not his mind, were talking, "I
+doubted your judgment of the glacier.
+The access to the summit was evidently so
+easy that, I thought, some route across
+would surely open out before us. I desired
+to surprise you; I knew you could
+easily overtake us. Therefore, I set forth.
+The Eskimos hung back, but I promised
+them knives if they would follow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was easy enough until we came to
+this crevasse. I attempted to leap across,
+but I slipped and fell. I do not know
+how it happened, but I struck several times
+and whirled over and over, and felt a blow
+upon the back of my head. It dazed me.
+When I came to myself I was seated upon
+that ledge, with my back against the wall.
+The wall slants in, as you see, and the outer
+edge of the ledge is raised, so I was secure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I had only half recovered my senses
+and I began to cry out for help. I was
+so much disturbed that I didn't know
+what was going on until I saw someone
+upon the shelf opposite. Then I think I
+shouted louder. Suddenly there came
+another shock and I should have fallen,
+but someone held me up. It was Daniel.
+He must have leaped across."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused and I looked down again.
+The ledge, at its broadest barely a foot
+and a half wide, fell away into the wall,
+not two feet from the spot where Praed
+must have brought up. It was a brave
+leap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go on," I commanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Daniel laughed at me," resumed the
+Professor, like a child reading from a book,
+"and waited till I got back some of my
+self-possession. Then he made signs to
+me to spring across and catch the icicles
+with my arms. I was afraid. He laughed
+again and made another sign that he
+would lift me across. I let him take me
+by the knees and lift me until my head
+and waist rose above the shelf, and then I
+leaned forward and we both toppled over.
+I caught the icicles, and he held me firm
+and perhaps—I don't know—if I had
+kept still—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I hastened to steady him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What did you do?" I asked. "Keep
+cool."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I struggled. I squirmed with my
+feet in getting up—and kicked him free.
+When I was safe I tried to help him—I
+meant to help him. But the ledge was
+empty and he lay there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good God!" was all I could say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We passed the succeeding three hours
+in dead silence. Praed never moved, I
+think, and never took his eyes from the sky
+above the <i>névé</i> basin. The Eskimos sat
+quietly beside the grave of their friend. I
+sprang across the crevasse where it narrowed,
+descended to the shelf with the
+icicles, and mused upon the courage that
+had dared a leap to that narrow footing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the party from the ship arrived
+with ropes. The leader of the Relief
+Party hastened in advance. His pale face
+turned red as he saw Praed, and he sprang
+forward with hand outstretched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Praed, old fellow!" he exclaimed.
+"By the Lord, I'm glad to see you alive.
+How did you get out?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Praed turned toward him. I couldn't
+see his face, but the leader fell back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the matter?" he said. "What
+is it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's an accident," I put in. "Daniel
+has fallen and is dead."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Praed showed the first sign of
+manliness that I had ever seen in him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is my fault," he proclaimed. "I
+am to blame for his death. I demand the
+right to fetch up his body."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In pity for his evident wretchedness, the
+leader consented. We lowered the Professor
+by a rope to the heap of trash. But
+as his weight bore upon the block where
+the body lay, the ice tilted and fell. Daniel
+fell with it. The ringing of icicles on
+either wall of the glacier lessened to a
+tinkling; the tinkling merged into a sustained
+harmonic, like the final note of some
+violin sonata. The tone died away. No
+final crash followed. The utmost depths
+were beyond our hearing.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-039" id="i-039"></a>
+<img src="images/i-039.png" width="426" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Drawn by Henry McCarter.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">I should have fallen but someone held me up—it was Daniel.—<a href="#Page_295">Page 295</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+During most of the voyage home,
+Praed behaved like a man in a dream. He
+rarely spoke, and when we addressed him
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_296' name='Page_296' href='#Page_296'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_297' name='Page_297' href='#Page_297'>297</a></span>
+he started before he replied. Only once
+did he show any trace of his ancient
+aggressive manner, and that was when
+someone said a slighting word of an Eskimo.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Eskimos," retorted Praed, "are
+heroes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was absurd. Perhaps there are
+three or four left in the tribe who would
+have done what Daniel did. The Professor
+was pitiful in his broken condition.
+We deemed him a chastened man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other day, however, a member of
+our old party came to see me. There is
+only one topic of conversation among men
+who have journeyed to the Far North. In
+the course of our Arctic gossip I asked
+for news of Praed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Haven't you heard?" asked my friend.
+"He is lecturing through the West. He
+has won a great reputation for his courage
+in descending into the crevasse."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hm!" I said, and both of us were silent.
+We were thinking of a strain of ice-music
+as unearthly as the Theme of the Grail,
+and of a vast white tomb, now doubtless
+afloat upon some Arctic sea. It bears the
+body of a better man than Praed.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-040" id="i-040"></a>
+<img src="images/i-040.png" width="420" height="519" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">A hundred feet below ... lay Daniel.—<a href="#Page_294">Page 294</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_298' name='Page_298' href='#Page_298'>298</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter p6">
+<a name="i-041" id="i-041"></a>
+<img src="images/i-041.png" width="387" height="595" alt="Page Image" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<h2>
+A SLUMBER-SONG
+<br />
+<span class="s08">FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD</span>
+<br />
+By Henry van Dyke
+</h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Furl your sail, my little boatie;</p>
+<p class="i2">Here's the harbor, still and deep,</p>
+<p>Where the dreaming tides, in-streaming,</p>
+<p class="i4">Up the channel creep.</p>
+<p>See, the sunset breeze is dying;</p>
+<p>Hark, the plover, landward flying,</p>
+<p>Softly down the twilight crying;</p>
+<p class="i2">Come to anchor, little boatie,</p>
+<p class="i4">In the port of Sleep.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Far away, my little boatie,</p>
+<p class="i2">Roaring waves are white with foam;</p>
+<p>Ships are striving, onward driving,</p>
+<p class="i4">Day and night they roam.</p>
+<p>Father's at the deep-sea trawling,</p>
+<p>In the darkness, rowing, hauling,</p>
+<p>While the hungry winds are calling,—</p>
+<p class="i2">God protect him, little boatie,</p>
+<p class="i4">Bring him safely home!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Not for you, my little boatie.</p>
+<p class="i2">Is the wide and weary sea;</p>
+<p>You're too slender, and too tender,</p>
+<p class="i4">You must rest with me.</p>
+<p>All day long you have been straying</p>
+<p>Up and down the shore and playing;</p>
+<p>Come to port, make no delaying!</p>
+<p class="i2">Day is over, little boatie,</p>
+<p class="i4">Night falls suddenly.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Furl your sail, my little boatie;</p>
+<p class="i2">Fold your wings, my tired dove.</p>
+<p>Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling</p>
+<p class="i4">Drowsily above.</p>
+<p>Cease from sailing, cease from rowing;</p>
+<p>Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing</p>
+<p>Safely o'er your rest are glowing,</p>
+<p class="i2">All the night, my little boatie,</p>
+<p class="i4">Harbor-lights of love.</p>
+</div></div></div> <!-- /poetry-container -->
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-042" id="i-042"></a>
+<img src="images/i-042.png" width="386" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">COME TO ANCHOR, LITTLE BOATIE,<br />
+IN THE PORT OF SLEEP.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-043" id="i-043"></a>
+<img src="images/i-043.png" width="403" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Painted by George Butler.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">Girl with Tambourine.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_299' name='Page_299' href='#Page_299'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_300' name='Page_300' href='#Page_300'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_301' name='Page_301' href='#Page_301'>301</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+THE PAINTING OF GEORGE BUTLER
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By W. C. Brownell</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapt.png" width="103" height="106" alt="T" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">The painting of George
+Butler has the interest of
+all art that is not manifestly
+the product of the influences
+of the moment,
+but owes its quality to the
+personality of the painter. Such is the
+interest of Whistler's, Winslow Homer's,
+the late Homer Martin's, LaFarge's,
+Vedder's. It is art that has a direct
+rather than an illustrative interest—a
+real rather than a historical value. It
+does not contribute much to the race,
+the moment, and the <i>milieu</i> theory. And,
+of course, it suffers some neglect at the
+present time, which apparently belongs
+to the theoreticians, and when, accordingly,
+the illustrative and historical interest
+of all data that can contribute to
+the construction of formulary is felt so
+universally and so nearly exclusively. But
+the play of those forces that are so highly
+differentiated as to escape classification—the
+forces that make up personality—rewards
+contemplation in quite a different
+way. It eludes the pursuit of philosophy,
+but it repays the æsthetic attention quite
+as much, quite as legitimately, as the
+study of that impersonal and rather mechanical
+result of current habits of mind
+and points of view, the art of the schools.
+Butler was a pupil—long ago—of Couture,
+and one may still see evidences of the
+fact in his portraits now and then. But
+compare his relation to Couture with that
+of Sargent to Carolus Duran, for example,
+in order to see how wholly personal
+his painting is and how little he owes to
+any mere source of acquisition, except in
+certain means of technical expression,
+early adopted and perhaps rather lazily
+adhered to. Power and distinction such
+as Sargent's, even when exhibited almost
+solely within the range of technical expression,
+have certainly an individuality
+of their own that is most striking and
+admirable. But it is an individuality of
+accomplishment rather than of quality,
+marked more by its eminence of excellence
+than by its native idiosyncrasy. Of
+course, any intimate association of the
+two painters would be more misleading
+than illuminating, and in contrasting them
+in this single but fundamental respect I
+only have in mind the radical difference
+thus illustrated between a painter who has
+achieved fame by distancing competition
+in following traditional lines and expressing
+current tendencies, and a painter who
+has a controlling personal bent and has
+followed that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Butler has, at all events, always done just
+what he wanted to do, and in the strictest
+sense. His temperament has always dictated
+his expression, and in thoroughly imperious
+fashion. It may be said, indeed,
+to have dominated his intelligence to the
+extent, at least, of eliminating, as objects
+of curiosity, interest, or effort, everything
+not strictly in accord with itself. But
+the result has been the felicity of extreme
+concentration. If in doing what he
+wanted to do his wants have been few,
+he has, on the other hand, wanted them
+with an intensity proportionate to its singleness.
+Beauty exhibited in the human
+face and form has absorbed his artistic attention
+and activity. I remember not only
+no landscapes, but nothing really to be
+called a composition among his works.
+A few Barye-like animal fragments, of
+heroic mould—a tiger's head, a dog's
+head and shoulders, the foreparts of an
+extremely leonine lion, some very feline
+cats—are, I fancy, the only diversion of
+his devotion to the single figure and the
+portrait, and they are but examples of the
+instinctive exercise of his remarkable gift
+of representation, and show a fine faculty
+at play rather than at work. They do not
+illustrate the "discipline of genius" as
+some writer has defined art to be, but are
+merely "artistic" in the sense in which
+artists use the word, <i>i.e.</i>, born of the impulse
+to create or reproduce an "effect"
+of some kind. In the portrait and the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_302' name='Page_302' href='#Page_302'>302</a></span>
+single figure, however, he has expressed
+himself with freedom, with zest, and with
+completeness.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Portraiture is a branch of art in which
+artistic aptitudes exhibit themselves in as
+individual a way as in any other perhaps,
+despite the preponderance usually assigned
+to the "likeness." And neither <i><span lang="la">à priori</span></i>
+nor historically can it be asserted that the
+imagination itself plays in portraiture an
+inferior part. The material is possibly less
+varied than that of landscape or decorative
+art; but that is nothing. A painter shows
+his quality quite as much within a limited
+as within a wider range. And the material
+of portraiture is at least as highly differentiated
+as it is limited. The interest of the
+"Lesson in Anatomy" resides in many of
+its various pictorial elements no doubt, but
+also and in the supreme degree in what
+Burger calls "the working of intellect," as
+seen in the countenances of the listening
+circle around the demonstrator. A painter
+who exhibits himself in portraying human
+intellect, emotions, character, personality,
+and with these highly complicated and
+maturely developed phenomena shows us
+his point of view and way of looking at
+things—which are what art and genius
+mainly are, according to Mr. Henry
+James—has an opportunity certainly of
+doing so on a very high plane. And on
+such a plane Butler is, I think, very much
+at home. The quality that all his portraits
+show in common is displayed with
+perfect freedom and the effect only to be
+attained by the easy exercise of a native
+gift.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the first place they are extremely
+human. They are in no degree portraits
+<i><span lang="fr_FR">à la mode</span></i> and do not exploit the painter's
+virtuosity. They show, on the contrary,
+his respect for, and interest in, his model.
+One establishes relations through them
+with their originals. They have character
+in the moral and intellectual, as well as in
+the artistic sense. They acquire in this
+way a typical value. The Century Club's
+portrait of General Greene is also a portrait
+of the American soldier, as many another,
+easily mentioned, is that of the
+American lady. They are intellectually
+generalized, that is to say, endowed with
+a wider than merely individual interest.
+In the second place they are extremely
+pictorial. The most intractable subject is
+made agreeable by being handled with a
+touch directed by an instinctive preference
+for, and delight in, the beautiful. The
+sitter receives the benefit of a translation
+into a heightened and poetized medium
+without loss of anything essentially characteristic.
+In both these respects—their
+humanity and their pictorial quality—Butler's
+portraits are decidedly exceptional in
+current art.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Current art is certainly concentrated
+upon physical character rather than upon
+beauty, and current appreciation of it is in
+harmonious accord with its realistic effort
+and aim. One may refine speculation to the
+point of asserting that there is no opposition,
+essentially considered, between the two;
+that Rembrandt is as distinguished for his
+beauty as Raphael, and that on the other
+hand there is as much character in "The
+School of Athens" as in the "Lesson in
+Anatomy." But in matters of this kind
+terms are approximate only, and the fact
+that definition is a difficult matter does not
+obscure the plain truth that a marked difference
+exists between the work of a painter
+in whose mind an agreeable conception of
+an object mirrors itself, and that of one
+mainly anxious to be exact. Technic
+has spread prodigiously (quite as much
+perhaps as it has developed) in the present
+epoch, and has become rather arrogant in
+its aggrandizement. Criticism, too, in becoming
+largely technical has assisted the
+tendency, so far as it exerts an influence on
+practice. It has grown tired, no doubt, of
+its own commonplaces and generalities, its
+easy habit of estimating aims rather than
+accomplishment, its routine insensitiveness
+to aspect and perfunctory absorption in
+significance. But in assuming the painter's
+point of view—not a very esoteric one,
+certainly—it has not been quite self-respectfully
+discriminating enough to avoid
+the purely professional attitude. And it is
+perhaps time for the pendulum to swing
+back again a little, so that both in estimating
+and in enjoying the painter's art
+we may once more think of its intellectual
+rather than so wholly of its mechanical
+side, which latter we may also be sure,
+nowadays, will be quite carefully, and in
+many cases competently, attended to by
+the painters themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this way, at any rate, having in mind
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_303' name='Page_303' href='#Page_303'>303</a></span>
+Butler's portraits, we shall be able, whether
+or no they have the accent and relief
+requisite for a portrait of the striking or
+"stunning" order—in this way we shall
+be able to appreciate what a fine talent it
+predicates to say of a painter that he sees
+the finest side of his subject. This is
+often understood as lightly as it is said,
+and taken to indicate merely a preference
+for the agreeable to the more markedly
+characteristic. And this is no doubt especially
+true in the field of portraiture.
+But certainly, and especially in portraiture,
+very little reflection is needed to show
+one that the great peril to be avoided,
+and the most constant menace, is caricature
+of one sort or another. It may be
+the caricature that comes from imperfectly
+seizing and imperfectly rendering the traits
+of the subject, the caricature that inadequacy
+is. Or it may be that which comes
+from undue and disproportionate accentuation
+of what is perceived too exclusively.
+Success depends upon avoiding both by
+forming a correspondent conception of the
+subject—a conception that is clear and
+consistent and positive—and painting
+that. The painter then copies his conception,
+not his model, and the representative
+value of his portrait will have precisely the
+interest of his conception—in so far, of
+course, as he is able to convey it. In a
+sense, to be sure, it may be said that it is
+impossible to paint a portrait without proceeding
+in this way, without first forming a
+conception of the sitter plastically, if not
+morally; that the result is necessarily the
+product of some preliminary conception.
+But that is metaphysical fine-spinning.
+Empirically we all know that unconscious
+caricature—which is the caricature here
+referred to—is due to either a defective or
+a distorted conception, in other words, to
+a mental image either so faint or so little
+correspondent to the original as to be
+practically no conception at all. Of a very
+large number of portraits, assuredly, it may
+be asserted that they embody no more
+developed and complete an antecedent
+image in the mind of the painter than a
+mere mechanical impression, barely distinct
+enough to direct the muscular movements
+requisite to register it upon canvas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Butler's conception is, as I have intimated,
+always very sympathetically formed.
+It seems to indicate that he likes the sitter.
+His own cordiality enters into it. It
+is a result of harmonious relations between
+his imagination and the sitter's nature—the
+qualities, as well as the appearance,
+of the subject. Landscape painting,
+says Eugène Véron, is "the painting of
+one's emotions in the presence of nature."
+Butler's portraits, similarly, seem the painting
+of his idea of the subject in its suggestive,
+stimulating, rectifying presence. His
+conception implies a certain slowness of
+formation—the time to become acquainted,
+at least. That of such a painter as
+Sargent is so rapid as to seem quite impersonal,
+in comparison. It is apparently
+formed so quickly as to be really an impression
+rather than a conception at all.
+Though occasionally plainly transitory, it
+is often wonderfully vivid and searching,
+but rarely does it attest that assimilation
+which is a necessary preliminary of synthesis
+of such complexity as the conception
+of an active personality is entitled to.
+Its qualities are fundamentally "artistic."
+Butler's is at the same time more mature
+and less objective. Sargent's <i>grandes
+dames</i>, for example, are always fine ladies,
+but Butler's portraits of women have, all
+of them, whatever the sitter's type, the
+patrician look. Yet they are noble rather
+than elegant, and simple in their refinement.
+Their graciousness is native, and
+there is something ample in the ease with
+which they carry themselves. Add to this
+a poetic strain that characterizes very intimately
+their unaffected naturalness and
+gives them a universal as well as a specific
+interest, making of them abiding works
+of art.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The Italian type, which almost all his
+single figures illustrate, has had a particular
+charm for Butler—as the accompanying
+illustrations attest. And to its interpretation
+he has brought a remarkable and
+an instinctive sympathy. Stendhal would
+have liked his Italian figures—Stendhal,
+who better than any other writer, perhaps,
+has understood the Italian national character
+in its nobility as well as its finesse.
+Its finesse has not interested Butler, as indeed
+it could hardly interest a painter of
+his frank nature, and it is not, of course,
+a particularly paintable quality, though it
+must be confessed that Velasquez made
+something of it in his Innocent X. of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_304' name='Page_304' href='#Page_304'>304</a></span>
+Doria Gallery. But its nobility, its largeness,
+its elemental and untormented quality,
+its freedom from pettiness and perplexities,
+its naturalness, its frank following of
+the dictates of will and passion, unsophisticated
+by the restraints and complications
+of vanity or self-consciousness in any of its
+myriad forms—can be read in Butler's
+Capri peasants as in a book. Health and
+vigor, an animation that is not feverish
+or hardly alert, the charm of pensiveness
+without sadness, of repose without revery,
+of work without strain, and existence without
+effort, they show in every expression
+of their large lines and simple, graceful
+attitudes. Now and then from the face
+shines a beautiful soul, its innocence untouched
+by experience and acquiring an
+almost pathetic quality from its unworldly,
+yet by no means spiritual serenity. They
+win your admiration and your heart. They
+have infinite capacities of feeling, of loving,
+of wilfulness, of self-sacrifice. They
+have been refined but not corrupted by
+their not too close or too reciprocal contact
+with civilization. They are all of a piece,
+and one comprehends the tragedy that
+excess would mean for them. In their way
+they are the acme of poetry and beauty
+expressed in character that has a wonderful
+correspondence to the envelope of its
+plastic manifestation. "I would rather,"
+exclaimed once a friend of mine—a lady,
+naturally—"I would rather know one Jew
+than forty Gentiles, they have so much
+more <i>character</i>." Character in this sense
+the Italians possess in effusion, so to speak,
+and Butler's Capriotes and Venetians exhibit
+it with a native dignity and charm
+that one has only to think of such contrasts
+as Bastien-Lepage's, or even Millet's, peasants
+(far more interesting in many other
+respects, of course) to appreciate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some of them are beautifully painted,
+as all are sympathetically understood.
+The elder of the two boys here reproduced
+is an especially lovely bit of handling,
+of quality, of clarity in the gently
+gradated tones. A Capri woman seated
+in a straight-backed chair upon a homespun
+carpet making lace, is very nearly a
+marvel in the same way—a figure that
+painters themselves are particularly pleased
+with. The blue dress, the white bodice,
+the dark face and hands, the blue-black
+hair, the greenish background, and the
+gray and red carpet compose largely in
+masses of importance, and are painted
+with a liquid and <i>luisant</i> effect that is
+nevertheless as far as possible from a
+blended and effeminate one. The touch
+is firmer, perhaps, more positive and vigorous,
+certainly, in the Venetian water-carrier
+here engraved, though it is equally
+distant from anything brutal, and the
+brush is restrained by refinement within
+the lines of true distinction, with the result
+that the reader may discern even in
+black and white. Is she not a majestic
+creature—for pictorial purposes, at all
+events? Pictorially, at least, she is superb.
+This is what a painter of genuine
+temperament and an instinct for character
+can make out of a bare-headed girl lugging
+a jar of water. One perceives at
+once the vitality and completeness of Butler's
+purely plastic impressions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So vital and complete indeed are his
+plastic impressions that they explain, I
+think, his fondness for the single figure,
+his carelessness for composition. It may
+be argued from this fondness that his
+talent is an impressionable rather than
+an imaginative one; that his plastic exceeds
+his architectonic faculty. But to
+argue this is to miss an important side of
+his art. He does not, it is true, see things
+in their relations so much as in their essence.
+The genius for image-making, for
+originating conceptions of complex and
+interdependent interest, for composition,
+in a word, he certainly does not possess
+in any marked degree, or we should have
+had from him at least some experimentation
+in this sort. But it is remarkable
+how little, in looking at one of his noble
+figures, one feels this as a limitation, how
+close an equivalent he gives us for it. He
+has comprehended his model so thoroughly,
+and realized it so perfectly; he has conveyed
+the character itself so essentially,
+so subtly, and so intimately, merely in presenting
+its plastic phenomena, that he has
+amply <i>suggested</i> its characteristic environment
+and everything related to it that, in an
+elaborate composition of which it should
+be the centre, might contribute to its completer
+expression and relief. It does not
+look in the least like the study for a figure
+in some picture or other. It is a picture
+in itself. We do not get the pleasure that
+the pictorial presentation of this contributory
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_305' name='Page_305' href='#Page_305'>305</a></span>
+environment would give us; we
+forego the sensuous delight that composition
+is capable of affording; but the
+striking thing about Butler's single figures
+is that they themselves so impress the
+imagination as to make us forget that they
+are unaided by accessories. One may add,
+by the way, the not impertinent corollary
+that it would be difficult to find among
+contemporary painters one who could satisfactorily
+supply this omission on the same
+plane of conception and workmanship.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-048" id="i-048"></a>
+<img src="images/i-048.png" width="456" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Portrait.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p class="p2">
+Butler's color is one of the prominent
+qualities of his painting. It is extremely
+full and rich, at the same time that it is
+quiet and grave. Color as color interests
+him, plainly, and he does not leave it to
+take care of itself, as is a frequent practice
+at the present time, when painters
+seem largely to have given over the illustration
+of its decorative possibilities and
+to be devoting themselves either to the
+value or the vibration, instead of the quality,
+of their color. On the one hand, the
+prevailing middle tint that is <i>obviously</i>
+middle tint, and, on the other, the high
+key of luminosity that is obviously mere
+pitch instead of melody, make such canvases
+as Butler's seem, perhaps, a trifle
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_306' name='Page_306' href='#Page_306'>306</a></span>
+old-fashioned. How long is it since Titian
+was mentioned in a modern studio
+except as a subject of interest to the antiquarian?
+The practitioner who, twenty-five
+years ago, was endeavoring to divine
+his "secret," perhaps abandoning the
+quest as hopeless, has exchanged his atmosphere
+for one more rarefied, where, if
+the prospect is considerably more arid,
+there is correspondingly less demand on
+the vital forces. The lack in Butler's
+work of the current display of machinery—which
+is what an exclusive devotion to
+values or vibration may not unfairly be
+called—the lack of this inversion of the
+normal relations between means and ends,
+is not felt particularly, I fancy, by anyone
+but the professional practitioner. His low
+key and his unconcern for illustrating the
+potentialities of pure technic <i><span lang="fr_FR">à propos de
+bottes</span></i>, enable him to exhibit, very charmingly,
+his feeling for color in and for itself.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-049" id="i-049"></a>
+<img src="images/i-049.png" width="495" height="584" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Roman Boy.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+This gives his work an agreeable element
+of contrast to that most in vogue.
+One of his canvases is a welcome sight in
+a contemporary exhibition for this reason
+alone. A disproportionate devotion to
+color means the loss of many admirable
+sources of pleasure in art, beyond any
+doubt. And in the main these are especially
+admirable, because they are intellectual
+sources rather than sensuous. But
+the content of art is beauty, and beauty
+implies sensuousness, and in painting
+there is no such source of sensuous impression
+as color. A feeling for it is
+shared alike by the savage and the civilized
+man, and no doubt there is something
+barbarous in the delight which certain
+of its manifestations inspire. But this
+fact in itself shows the elemental and universal
+quality of this feeling and exhibits
+it as a mark of temperament. An acute
+or profound sense of its intimate appeal
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_307' name='Page_307' href='#Page_307'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_308' name='Page_308' href='#Page_308'>308</a></span>
+has characterized all epochs of expansion
+in the history of art, and its neglect has
+been the invariable accompaniment of
+that petrifaction by system which has assailed
+art at its every apogee. It is so
+sensitive as well as so elemental that it
+has suffered neglect as well in the development
+as in the decay of art; in the admirable
+evolution of Florentine line and
+mass following the lovely harmonies of
+Giottesque color, as well as in the sterilities
+succeeding the high Renaissance.
+It is the sign-manual of the spirit of invention,
+of imagination, of novelty, of
+free exercise of the faculties; and it individualizes
+the painter more sharply, perhaps,
+than any other characteristic. Color
+is his short-cut to sentiment, his most eloquent
+expression, his readiest means of
+communicating emotion. More than his
+style one may say that his color is the
+man.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-050" id="i-050"></a>
+<img src="images/i-050.png" width="347" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Painted by George Butler.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">Match Seller.</p>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-051" id="i-051"></a>
+<img src="images/i-051.jpg" width="482" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Portrait.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_309' name='Page_309' href='#Page_309'>309</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Butler's feeling for color is not feeling
+for its subtleties. It is a broad and tranquil
+delight in its simpler effects. He is not
+fond of hues and tints, of gradations and
+oppositions, of jewel-like harmonies and
+delicate flushes, of iridescence and sheen
+and sparkle. His color is the suave and
+sweet vibration of tone, now rich and deep,
+now clear and soft, but vibrating mainly
+near the primaries. Its distinction is that
+it is always <i>color</i>; that one of his canvases
+nowhere loses its music, so to say, and becomes
+mere sound. Locally, it is always
+treated in large masses, giving the eye repose
+rather than stimulus, and the general
+harmony is correspondingly large. He
+sees things in color, evidently, which is very
+different from seeing color in things, as also
+from not seeing color at all. It is through
+their color that his figures acquire their solidity
+and firmness—a greater relief than
+they would have, perhaps, if wholly dependent
+on justness of value. Their color is so
+pervasive and penetrating, it characterizes
+and expresses them so forcibly, it is so
+emphatically the instrument of their realization,
+that without it they would lose
+identity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is difficult, for instance, to judge of
+the "Girl with Tambourine" minus the
+rich glow that pervades the orange background,
+warms the olive of the soft, smiling
+countenance, the plump neck, the
+slender arm and hand, and mellows the
+brown and red of the <i>contadina</i> costume.
+Reduced to black and white, with its values
+as carefully preserved as has been essayed
+in the accompanying reproduction, it unfailingly
+loses, in some measure, its reality,
+its roundness, its "tactile values"—to employ
+Mr. Berenson's favorite term. Scientifically
+speaking, this perhaps involves
+a contradiction since, speaking thus, "tactile
+values" depend upon the light and
+dark relations of color, and not upon its
+kind or quality. But the kind and quality
+of color have such power over the emotions,
+and leave such a lively impress on
+the retina that, practically and concretely,
+they serve to increase wonderfully the
+sense of a picture's substantiality at the
+same time that, and in virtue of the fact
+that, they increase the vivacity of the beholder's
+interest. Is it not possible that
+this consideration has been somewhat lost
+sight of in the logic that dictates the practice
+of much current painting? The old
+masters are there to show what a loss in
+mere substantiality, in weight and force,
+the neglect of color involves. Indeed, the
+"valueless" coach-panel painting of the
+English pre-Raphaelites points a similar
+moral, and perhaps accounts for the revival
+of interest in it. As to color as a
+vehicle for the communication of poetry,
+there is, of course, nowhere any dispute.
+Poetry implies personal feeling, and in no
+way can feeling be expressed more personally
+than in color. And if Butler's
+color, as well as his sympathetic interpretation
+of character, makes his canvases
+contrast, in a way that may be stigmatized
+as "old-fashioned," with the colorlessness
+and the brutality that abound, one may
+properly retort that the limitedness of the
+<i><span lang="la">laudator temporis acti</span></i> is clairvoyance itself
+compared with the partisanship of
+the pedant of the present.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-052" id="i-052"></a>
+<img src="images/i-052.png" width="300" height="168" alt="Decoration" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_310' name='Page_310' href='#Page_310'>310</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY ANN
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Joel Chandler Harris</span>
+<br />
+<span class="s08">"WHEN JESS WENT A-FIDDLIN'"</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcaps.png" width="103" height="104" alt="S" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">Sitting on the veranda
+one summer day, ruminating
+over other people's
+troubles, and wondering
+how womankind can invent
+and discover so many
+things to fret and vex them, I was surprised
+to hear someone yelling at the gate, "You-all
+got any bitin' dogs here?" I was surprised,
+because the voice failed to match
+the serenity of the suburban scene. Its
+tone was unsuited to the surroundings, being
+pitched a trifle too high. Before I
+could make any reply the gate was flung
+open, and the owner of the voice, who was
+no other than Aunt Minervy Ann, flirted in
+and began to climb the terrace. My recognition
+of her was not immediate, for she
+wore her Sunday toggery, in which, following
+the oriental instincts of her race,
+the reds and yellows were emphasized with
+startling effect. She began to talk by the
+time she was half-way between the house
+and gate, and it was owing to this special
+and particular volubility that I was able to
+recognize her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Huh!" she exclaimed, "hit's des like
+clim'in' up sta'rs. Folks what live here
+bleeze ter b'long ter de Sons er Tempunce."
+There was a relish about this reference
+to the difficulties of three terraces
+that at once identified Aunt Minervy Ann.
+More than that, one of the most conspicuous
+features of the country town where she
+lived was a large brick building, covering
+half a block, across the top of which
+stretched a sign—"Temperance Hall"—in
+letters that could be read a quarter of
+a mile away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann received a greeting
+that seemed to please her, whereupon she
+explained that an excursion had come to
+Atlanta from her town, and she had seized
+the opportunity to pay me a visit. "I tol'
+um," said she, "dat dey could stay up in
+town dar an' hang 'roun' de kyar-shed ef
+dey wanter, but here's what wuz gwine ter
+come out an' see whar you live at."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was informed that, though she was
+welcome, she would get small pleasure
+from her visit. The cook had failed to
+make her appearance, and the lady of the
+house was at that moment in the kitchen
+and in a very fretful state of mind, not because
+she had to cook, but because she had
+about reached the point where she could
+place no dependence in the sisterhood of
+colored cooks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is she in de kitchen now?" Aunt
+Minervy's tone was a curious mixture of
+amusement and indignation. "I started
+not ter come, but I had a call, I sho' did;
+sump'n tol' me dat you mought need me
+out here." With that, she went into the
+house, slamming the screen-door after her,
+and untying her bonnet as she went.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, the lady of the house had heard
+of Aunt Minervy Ann, but had never met
+her, and I was afraid that the characteristics
+of my old-time friend would be misunderstood,
+and misinterpreted. The
+lady in question knew nothing of the negro
+race until long after emancipation, and she
+had not been able to form a very favorable
+opinion of its representatives. Therefore,
+I hastened after Aunt Minervy Ann, hoping
+to tone down by explanation whatever
+bad impression she might create. She
+paused at the screen-door that barred the
+entrance to the kitchen, and, for an instant,
+surveyed the scene within. Then
+she cried out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You des ez well ter come out'n dat
+kitchen! You ain't got no mo' bizness in
+dar dan a new-born baby."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann's voice was so loud
+and absolute that the lady gazed at her in
+mute astonishment. "You des ez well ter
+come out!" she insisted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you crazy?" the lady asked in all
+seriousness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm des ez crazy now ez I ever been;
+an' I tell you you des ez well ter come
+out'n dar."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who are you anyhow?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm Minervy Ann Perdue, at home
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_311' name='Page_311' href='#Page_311'>311</a></span>
+an' abroad, an' in dish yer great town whar
+you can't git niggers ter cook fer you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, if you want me to come out of
+the kitchen, you will have to come in and
+do the cooking."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dat 'zackly what I'm gwine ter do!"
+exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. She went
+into the kitchen, demanded an apron, and
+took entire charge. "I'm mighty glad I
+come 'fo' you got started," she said, "'kaze
+you got 'nuff fier in dis stove fer ter barbecue
+a hoss; an' you got it so hot in here
+dat it's a wonder you ain't bust a blood-vessel."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She removed all the vessels from the
+range, and opened the door of the furnace
+so that the fire might die down. And when
+it was nearly out—as I was told afterward—she
+replaced the vessels and proceeded
+to cook a dinner which, in all its characteristics,
+marked a red letter day in the household.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's the best cook in the country,"
+said the lady, "and she's not polite."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Polite! Well, if she was polite, she'd
+be a hypocrite, and if she was a hypocrite,
+she wouldn't be Aunt Minervy Ann."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cook failed to come in the afternoon,
+and so Aunt Minervy Ann felt it
+her duty to remain over night. "Hamp'll
+vow I done run away wid somebody,"
+she said, laughing, "but I don't keer what
+he think."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After supper, which was as good as the
+dinner had been, Aunt Minervy Ann
+came out on the veranda and sat on the
+steps. After some conversation, she
+placed the lady of the house on the witness-stand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mistiss, wharbouts in Georgy wuz you
+born at?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wasn't born in Georgia; I was born
+in Lansingburgh, New York."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know'd it!" Aunt Minervy turned
+to me and nodded her head with energy.
+"I know'd it right pine blank!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You knew what?" the presiding
+genius of the household inquires with
+some curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know'd 'm dat you wuz a Northron
+lady."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't see how you knew it," I remarked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, she talk like we-all do, an'
+she got mighty much de same ways. But
+when I went out dar dis mornin' an' holler
+at 'er in de kitchen, I know'd by de
+way she turn 'roun' on me dat she ain't
+been brung up wid niggers. Ef she'd 'a'
+been a Southron lady, she'd 'a' laughed
+an' said, "Come in here an' cook dis dinner
+yo'se'f, you ole vilyun,' er she'd 'a'
+come out an' crackt me over de head wid
+dat i'on spoon what she had in her han'."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I could perceive a vast amount of
+acuteness in the observation, but I said
+nothing, and, after a considerable pause,
+Aunt Minervy Ann remarked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dey er lots er mighty good folks up
+dar"—indicating the North—"some I've
+seed wid my own eyes an' de yuthers I've
+heern talk un. Mighty fine folks, an'
+dey say dey mighty sorry fer de niggers.
+But I'll tell um all anywhar, any
+day, dat I'd lots druther dey'd be good
+ter me dan ter be sorry fer me. You
+know dat ar white lady what Marse Tom
+Chippendale married? Her pa come
+down here ter he'p de niggers, an' he
+done it de best he kin, but Marse Tom's
+wife can't b'ar de sight un um. She won't
+let um go in her kitchen, she won't let um
+go in her house, an' she don't want um
+nowhars 'roun'. I don't blame 'er much
+myse'f, bekaze it look like dat de niggers
+what been growin' up sence freedom is des
+tryin' der han' fer ter see how no 'count dey
+kin be. Dey'll git better—dey er bleeze
+ter git better, 'kaze dey can't git no wuss."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here came another pause, which continued
+until Aunt Minervy Ann, turning
+her head toward me, asked if I knew the
+lady that Jesse Towers married; and before
+I had time to reply with certainty,
+she went on:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, suh, you des can't know 'er. She
+ain't come dar twel sev'mty, an' I mos'
+know you ain't see 'er dat time you went
+down home ter de fair, 'kaze she wa'n't
+gwine out dat year. Well, she wuz a
+Northron lady. I come mighty nigh tellin'
+you 'bout 'er whence you wuz at de
+fair, but fus' one thing an' den anudder
+jumped in de way; er maybe 'twuz too
+new ter be goshup'd 'roun' right den.
+But de way she come ter be dar an' de
+way it all turn out beats any er dem tales
+what de ol' folks use ter tell we childun.
+I may not know all de ins an' outs, but
+what I does know I knows mighty well,
+'kaze de young 'oman tol' me herse'f right
+out 'er own mouf.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_312' name='Page_312' href='#Page_312'>312</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Fus' an' fo'mus', dar wuz ol' Gabe
+Towers. He wuz dar, whence you wuz
+dar, an' long time 'fo' dat. You know'd
+him, sho', 'kaze he wuz one er dem kinder
+men what sticks out fum de res' like a
+waggin' tongue. Not dat he wuz any better'n
+anybody else, but he had dem kinder
+ways what make folks talk 'bout 'im an'
+'pen' on 'im. I dunner 'zackly what de
+ways wuz, but I knows dat whatsomever
+ol' Gabe Towers say an' do, folks 'd nod
+der head an' say an' do de same. An'
+me 'long er de res'. He had dem kinder
+ways 'bout 'im, an' 'twa'n't no use
+talkin'."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In these few words, Aunt Minervy
+conjured up in my mind the memory of
+one of the most remarkable men I had
+ever known. He was tall, with iron-gray
+hair. His eyes were black and brilliant,
+his nose slightly curved, and his chin firm
+without heaviness. To this day Gabriel
+Towers stands out in my admiration foremost
+among all the men I have ever known.
+He might have been a great statesman;
+he would have been great in anything to
+which he turned his hand. But he contented
+himself with instructing smaller
+men, who were merely politicians, and with
+sowing and reaping on his plantation.
+More than one senator went to him for
+ideas with which to make a reputation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His will seemed to dominate everybody
+with whom he came in contact, not violently,
+but serenely and surely, and as a matter
+of course. Whether this was due to his
+age—he was sixty-eight when I knew him,
+having been born in the closing year of
+the eighteenth century—or to his moral
+power, or to his personal magnetism, it is
+hardly worth while to inquire. Major
+Perdue said that the secret of his influence
+was common-sense, and this is perhaps
+as good an explanation as any. The immortality
+of Socrates and Plato should be
+enough to convince us that common-sense
+is almost as inspiring as the gift of prophecy.
+To interpret Aunt Minervy Ann
+in this way is merely to give a correct report
+of what occurred on the veranda, for
+explanation of this kind was necessary to
+give the lady of the house something like
+a familiar interest in the recital.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, suh," Aunt Minervy Ann went
+on, "he had dem kinder ways 'bout 'im,
+an' whatsomever he say you can't shoo it
+off like you would a hen on de gyarden
+fence. Dar 'twuz an' dar it stayed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, de time come when ol' Marse
+Gabe had a gran'son, an' he name 'im
+Jesse in 'cordance wid de Bible. Jesse
+grow'd an' grow'd twel he got ter be a right
+smart chunk uv a boy, but he wa'n't no
+mo' like de Towerses dan he wuz like de
+Chippendales, which he wa'n't no kin to.
+He tuck atter his ma, an' who his ma tuck
+atter I'll never tell you, 'kaze Bill Henry
+Towers married 'er way off yander somers.
+She wuz purty but puny, yit puny ez she
+wuz she could play de peanner by de hour,
+an' play it mo' samer dan de man what
+make it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, Jesse tuck atter his ma in
+looks, but 'stidder playin' de peanner, he
+l'arnt how ter play de fiddle, an' by de
+time he wuz twelve year ol', he could make
+it talk. Hit's de fatal trufe, suh; he could
+make it talk. You hear folks playin' de
+fiddle, an' you know what dey doin'; you
+kin hear de strings a-plunkin' an' you kin
+hear de bow raspin' on um on 'count de
+rozzum, but when Jesse Towers swiped de
+bow cross his fiddle, 'twa'n't no fiddle—'twuz
+human; I ain't tellin' you no lie,
+suh, 'twuz human. Dat chile could make
+yo' heart ache; he could fetch yo' sins up
+befo' you. Don't tell me! many an' many
+a night when I hear Jesse Towers playin',
+I could shet my eyes an' hear my childun
+cryin', dem what been dead an' buried long
+time ago. Don't make no diffunce 'bout
+de chune, reel, jig, er promenade, de human
+cryin' wuz behime all un um.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bimeby, Jesse got so dat he didn't keer
+nothin' 'tall 'bout books. It uz fiddle, fiddle,
+all day long, an' half de night ef dey'd
+let 'im. Den folks 'gun ter talk. No need
+ter tell you what all dey say. De worl'
+over, fum what I kin hear, dey got de idee
+dat a fiddle is a free pass ter whar ole
+Scratch live at. Well, suh, Jesse got so
+he'd run away fum school an' go off in de
+woods an' play his fiddle. Hamp use ter
+come 'pon 'im when he haulin' wood, an'
+he say dat fiddle ain't soun' no mo' like
+de fiddles what you hear in common dan
+a flute soun' like a bass drum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now you know yo'se'f, suh, dat dis
+kinder doin's ain't gwine ter suit Marse
+Gabe Towers. Time he hear un it, he
+put his foot down on fiddler, an' fiddle,
+an' fiddlin'. Ez you may say, he sot down
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_313' name='Page_313' href='#Page_313'>313</a></span>
+on de fiddle an' smash it. Dis happen
+when Jesse wuz sixteen year ol', an' by
+dat time he wuz mo' in love wid de fiddle
+dan what he wuz wid his gran'daddy. An'
+so dar 'twuz. He ain't look like it, but
+Jesse wuz in about ez high strung ez his
+fiddle wuz, an' when his gran'daddy laid
+de law down, he sol' out his pony an' buggy
+an' made his disappearance fum dem
+parts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, 'twa'n't so mighty often you'd
+hear sassy talk 'bout Marse Gabe Towers,
+but you could hear it den. Folks is
+allers onreasonable wid dem dey like de
+bes'; you know dat yo'se'f, suh. Marse
+Gabe ain't make no 'lowance fer Jesse, an'
+folks ain't make none fer Marse Gabe.
+Marse Tumlin wuz dat riled wid de man
+dat dey come mighty nigh havin' a fallin'
+out. Dey had a splutter 'bout de time
+when sump'n n'er had happen, an' atter
+dey wrangle a little, Marse Tumlin sot de
+date by sayin' dat 'twuz 'a year 'fo' de day
+when Jess went a-fiddlin'.' Dat sayin'
+kindled de fier, suh, an it spread fur an'
+wide. Marse Tom Chippendale say dat
+folks what never is hear tell er de Towerses
+went 'roun' talkin' 'bout 'de time when
+Jess went a-fiddlin'.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann chuckled over this,
+probably because she regarded it as a sort
+of victory for Major Tumlin Perdue. She
+went on:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, suh, 'twuz a by-word wid de
+childun. No matter what happen, er
+when it happen, er ef 'tain't happen, 'twuz
+'fo' er atter 'de day when Jess went a-fiddlin'.'
+Hit look like dat Marse Gabe
+sorter drapt a notch or two in folks' min's.
+Yit he helt his head dez ez high. He
+bleeze ter hol' it high, 'kaze he had in 'im
+de blood uv bofe de Tumlins an' de Perdues;
+I dunner how much, but 'nuff fer
+ter keep his head up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I ain't no almanac, suh, but I never is
+ter fergit de year when Jess went a-fiddlin'.
+'Twuz sixty, 'kaze de nex' year
+de war 'gun ter bile, an' 'twa'n't long 'fo'
+it biled over. Yes, suh! dar wuz de war
+come on an' Jesse done gone. Dey
+banged aloose, dey did, dem on der side,
+an' we on our'n, an' dey kep' on a bangin'
+twel we-all can't bang no mo'. An'
+den de war hushed up, an' freedom
+come, an' still nobody ain't hear tell er
+Jesse. Den you come down dar, suh, an'
+stay what time you did; still nobody ain't
+hear tell er Jesse. He mought er writ
+ter his ma, but ef he did, she kep' it
+mighty close. Marse Gabe ain't los' no
+flesh 'bout it, an' ef he los' any sleep on
+account er Jess, he ain't never brag 'bout
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, it went on dis away twel,
+ten year atter Jess went a-fiddlin', his wife
+come home. Yes, suh! His wife! Well!
+I wuz stan'in' right in de hall talkin' wid
+Miss Fanny—dat's Jesse's ma—when she
+come, an' when de news broke on me
+you could 'a' knockt me down wid a per-meter
+fan. De house-gal show'd 'er in
+de parler, an' den come atter Miss Fanny.
+Miss Fanny she went in dar, an' I stayed outside
+talkin' wid de house-gal. De gal say,
+'Aunt Minervy Ann, dey sho' is sump'n n'er
+de matter wid dat white lady. She white ez
+any er de dead, an' she can't git 'er breff
+good.' 'Bout dat time, I hear somebody
+cry out in de parler, an' den I hear sump'n
+fall. De house-gal cotch holt er me an'
+'gun ter whimper. I shuck 'er off, I did,
+an' went right straight in de parler, an'
+dar wuz Miss Fanny layin' face fo'mus' on
+a sofy wid a letter in 'er han' an' de white
+lady sprawled out on de flo'.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, you can't skeer me wid
+trouble, 'kaze I done see too much; so I
+shuck Miss Fanny by de arm an' ax 'er
+what de matter, an' she cry out, 'Jesse's
+dead an' his wife come home.' She uz
+plum heart-broke, suh, an' I speck I wuz
+blubberin' some myse'f when Marse Gabe
+walkt in, but I wuz tryin' ter work wid
+de white lady on de flo'. 'Twix' Marse
+Gabe an' Miss Fanny, 'twuz sho'ly a tryin'
+time. When one er dem hard an'
+uppity men lose der grip on deyse'f, dey
+turn loose ever'thing, an' dat wuz de way
+wid Marse Gabe. When dat de case,
+sump'n n'er got ter be done, an' it got ter
+be done mighty quick."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann paused here and
+rubbed her hands together contemplatively,
+as if trying to restore the scene more
+completely to her memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know how loud I kin talk, suh,
+when I'm min' ter. Well, I talk loud den
+an' dar. I 'low, 'What you-all doin'?
+Is you gwine ter let Marse Jesse's wife
+lay here an' die des 'kaze he dead? Ef
+you is, I'll des go on whar I b'longs at!'
+Dis kinder fotch um 'roun', an' 'twa'n't
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_314' name='Page_314' href='#Page_314'>314</a></span>
+"no time 'fo' we had de white lady in de
+bed whar Jesse use ter sleep at, an' soon's
+we got 'er cuddled down in it, she come
+'roun'. But she wuz in a mighty bad fix.
+She wanter git up an' go off, an' 'twuz all
+I could do fer ter keep 'er in bed. She
+done like she wuz plum distracted. Dey
+wa'n't skacely a minit fer long hours, an'
+dey wuz mighty long uns, suh, dat she
+wa'n't moanin' an' sayin' dat she wa'n't
+gwine ter stay, an' she hope de Lord'd
+fergive 'er. I tell you, suh, 'twuz tarryfyin'.
+I shuck nex' day des like folks do
+when dey are honin' atter dram.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You may ax me how come I ter stay
+dar," Aunt Minervy Ann suggested with
+a laugh. "Well, suh, 'twa'n't none er my
+doin's. I speck dey mus' be sump'n wrong
+'bout me, 'kaze no matter how rough I
+talk ner how ugly I look, sick folks an'
+childun allers takes up wid me. When I
+go whar dey is, it's mighty hard fer ter
+git 'way fum um. So, when I say ter
+Jesse's wife, 'Keep still, honey, an' I'll go
+home an' not pester you,' she sot up in
+bed an' say ef I gwine she gwine too. I
+say, 'Nummine 'bout me, honey, you lay
+down dar an' don't talk too much.' She
+'low, 'Le' me talk ter you an' tell you all
+'bout it.' But I shuck my head an' say
+dat ef she don't hush up an' keep still I'm
+gwine right home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I had ter do 'er des like she wuz a
+baby, suh. She wa'n't so mighty purty,
+but she had purty ways, 'stracted ez she
+wuz, an' de biggest black eyes you mos'
+ever seed, an' black curly ha'r cut short
+kinder like our folks use ter w'ar der'n.
+Den de house-gal fotched some tea an'
+toas', an' dis holp 'er up mightly, an' atter
+dat I sont ter Marse Gabe fer some dram,
+an' de gal fotched de decanter fum de
+sidebode. Bein', ez you may say, de nurse,
+I tuck an' tas'e er de dram fer ter make
+sho' dat nobody ain't put nothin' in it.
+An', sho' 'nuff, dey ain't."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann paused and smacked
+her lips. "Atter she got de vittles an' de
+dram, she sorter drap off ter sleep, but
+'twuz a mighty flighty kinder sleep. She'd
+wake wid a jump des 'zackly like babies
+does, an' den she'd moan an' worry twel
+she dozed off ag'in. I nodded, suh, bekaze
+you can't set me down in a cheer,
+night er day, but what I'll nod, but in betwix'
+an' betweens I kin hear Marse Gabe
+Towers walkin' up an' down in de liberry;
+walk, walk; walk, walk, up an' down. I
+speck ef I'd 'a' been one er de nervious
+an' flighty kin' dey'd 'a' had to tote me
+out er dat house de nex' day; but me!
+I des kep' on a-noddin'.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bimeby, I hear sump'n come swishin'
+'long, an' in walkt Miss Fanny. I tell you
+now, suh, ef I'd a met 'er comin' down de
+road, I'd 'a' made a break fer de bushes,
+she look so much like you know sperrets
+oughter look—an' Marse Jesse's wife wuz
+layin' dar wid 'er eyes wide open. She
+sorter swunk back in de bed when she see
+Miss Fanny, an' cry out, 'Oh, I'm mighty
+sorry fer ter trouble you; I'm gwine 'way
+in de mornin'.' Miss Fanny went ter de
+bed an' knelt down 'side it, an' 'low, 'No,
+youer gwine no whar but right in dis house.
+Yo' place is here, wid his mudder an' his
+gran'fadder.' Wid dat, Marse Jesse's
+wife put her face in de piller an' moan
+an' cry, twel I hatter ax Miss Fanny fer
+ter please, ma'm, go git some res'.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, I stayed dar dat night an'
+part er de nex' day, an' by dat time all un
+um wuz kinder quieted down, but dey wuz
+mighty res'less in demin', speshually Marse
+Jesse's wife, which her name wuz Miss
+Sadie. It seem like dat Marse Jesse wuz
+livin' at a town up dar in de fur North
+whar dey wuz a big lake, an' he went out
+wid one er dem 'scursion parties, an' a
+storm come up an' shuck de boat ter
+pieces. Dat what make I say what I
+does. I don't min' gwine on 'scursions on de
+groun', but when it come ter water—well,
+suh, I ain't gwine ter trus' myse'f on water
+twel I kin walk on it an' not wet my foots.
+Marse Jesse wuz de Captain uv a music-ban'
+up dar, an' de papers fum dar had
+some long pieces 'bout 'im, an' de paper
+at home had a piece 'bout 'im. It say he
+wuz one er de mos' renounced music-makers
+what yever had been, an' dat when it
+come ter dat kinder doin's he wuz a puffick
+prodigal. I 'member de words, suh, bekaze
+I made Hamp read de piece out loud
+mo' dan once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Miss Sadie, she got mo' calmer atter
+while, an' 'twa'n't long 'fo' Marse Gabe
+an' Miss Fanny wuz bofe mighty tuck up
+wid 'er. Dey much'd 'er up an' made a
+heap un 'er, an' she fa'rly hung on dem. I
+done tol' you she ain't purty, but dey wuz
+sump'n 'bout er better dan purtiness. It
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_315' name='Page_315' href='#Page_315'>315</a></span>
+mought er been 'er eyes, en den ag'in
+mought er been de way er de gal; but
+whatsomever 'twuz, hit made you think
+'bout 'er at odd times durin' de day, an'
+des 'fo' you go ter sleep at night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Eve'ything went swimmin' along des
+ez natchul ez a duck floatin' on de mill-pon'.
+Dey wa'n't skacely a day but what
+I seed Miss Sadie. Ef I ain't go ter
+Marse Gabe's house she'd be sho' ter come
+ter mine. Dat uz atter Hamp wuz 'lected
+ter de legislatur, suh. He 'low dat a
+member er de ingener'l ensembly ain't
+got no bizness livin' in a kitchen, but I say
+dat he ain't a whit better den dan he wuz
+befo'. So be, I done been cross 'im so
+much dat I tell 'im ter git de house an'
+I'd live in it ef 'twa'n't too fur fum Miss
+Vallie an' Marse Tumlin. Well, he had it
+built on de outskyirts, not a big jump fum
+Miss Vallie, an' betwix' de town an' Marse
+Gabe Towers's. Dat wuz atter you went
+'way, suh. Nex' time you come down,
+you mus' come see me. Me an' Hamp'll
+treat you right, we sholy will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, in dem days dey wa'n't so
+many niggers willin' ter do an' be done by,
+an' on account er dat, ef Miss Vallie wa'n't
+hollin' fer 'Nervy Ann, Miss Fanny er
+Sadie wuz, an' when I wa'n't at one place,
+you might know I'd be at de yuther one.
+It went on dis away, an' went on twel one
+day got so much like an'er dat you can't
+tell Monday fum Friday. An' it went on
+an' went on twel bimeby I wuz bleeze ter
+say sump'n ter Hamp. You take notice,
+suh, an' when you see de sun shinin' nice
+an' warm an' de win' blowin' so saft an'
+cool dat you wanter go in a-washin' in it—when
+you see dis an' feel dat away, <i>Watch
+out!</i> <i>Watch out</i>, I tell you! Dat des de
+time when de harrycane gwineter come up
+out'n de middle er de swamp an' t'ar things
+ter tatters. Same way when folks gitting
+on so nice dat dey don't know dey er gittin'
+on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"De fus' news I know'd Miss Sadie wuz
+bringin' little bundles ter my house 'twix'
+sundown an' dark. She'd 'low, 'Aunt Minervy
+Ann, I'll des put dis in de cornder
+here; I may want it some time.' Nex'
+day it'd be de same doin's over ag'in.
+'Aunt Minervy Ann, please take keer er
+dis; I may want it some time.' Well, it
+went on dis away fum day ter day, but I
+ain't pay no 'tention. Ef any 'spicion
+cross my min' it wuz dat maybe Miss Sadie
+puttin' dem things dar fer ter 'sprise me
+Chris'mus by tellin' me dey wuz fer me.
+But one day she come ter my house, an'
+sot down an' put her han's over her face
+like she got de headache er sump'n.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wellum"—Aunt Minervy Ann, with
+real tact, now began to address herself to
+the lady of the house—"Wellum, she sot
+dar so long dat bimeby I ax 'er what de
+matter is. She ain't say nothin'; she ain't
+make no motion. I 'low ter myse'f dat
+she don't wanter be pestered, so I let 'er
+'lone an' went on 'bout my bizness. But,
+bless you! de nex' time I look at 'er she
+wuz settin' des dat away wid 'er han's over
+her face. She sot so still dat it sorter
+make me feel quare, an' I went, I did, an'
+cotch holt er her han's sorter playful-like.
+Wellum, de way dey felt made me flinch.
+All I could say wuz, 'Lord 'a' mercy!' She
+tuck her han's down, she did, an' look at
+me an' smile kinder faint-like. She 'low,
+'Wuz my han's col', Aunt Minervy Ann?'
+I look at 'er an' grunt, 'Huh! dey won't
+be no colder when youer dead.' She ain't
+say nothin', an' terreckly I 'low, 'What
+de name er goodness is de matter wid you,
+Miss Sadie?' She say, 'Nothin' much.
+I'm gwine ter stay here ter-night, an' ter-morrer
+mornin' I'm gwine 'way.' I ax
+'er, 'How come dat? What is dey done to
+you?' She say, 'Nothin' 'tall.' I 'low,
+'Does Marse Gabe an' Miss Fanny know
+you gwine?' She say, 'No; I can't tell
+um.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wellum, I flopt down on a cheer;
+yessum, I sho' did. My min' wuz gwine
+like a whirligig an' my head wuz swimmin'.
+I des sot dar an' look at 'er.
+Bimeby she up an' say, pickin' all de time
+at her frock, 'I know'd sump'n wuz
+gwine ter happen. Dat de reason I been
+bringin' dem bundles here. In dem ar
+bundles you'll fin' all de things I fotch
+here. I ain't got nothin' dey give me
+'cep'n, dish yer black dress I got on. I'd
+'a' fotch my ol' trunk, but I dunner what
+dey done wid it. Hamp'll hatter buy me
+one an' pay fer it hisse'f, 'kaze I ain't got a
+cent er money.' Dem de ve'y words she
+say. I 'low, 'Sump'n must 'a' happen
+den.' She nodded, an' bimeby she say,
+'Mr. Towers comin' home ter-night.
+Dey done got a telegraph fum 'im.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I stood up in de flo', I did, an' ax
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_316' name='Page_316' href='#Page_316'>316</a></span>
+'er, 'Which Mr.Towers?' She say, 'Mr.
+Jesse Towers.' I 'low, 'He done dead.'
+She say, 'No, he ain't; ef he wuz he done
+come ter life; dey done got a telegraph
+fum 'im, I tell you.' 'Is <i>dat</i> de reason
+you gwine 'way?' I des holla'd it at 'er.
+She draw'd a long breff an' say, 'Yes,
+dat's de reason.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I tell you right now, ma'm, I didn't
+know ef I wuz stannin' on my head er
+floatin' in de a'r. I wuz plum outdone.
+But dar she sot des es cool ez a curcumber
+wid de dew on it. I went out de do',
+I did, an' walk 'roun' de house once ter
+de right an' twice ter de lef' bekaze de ol'
+folks use ter tell me dat ef you wuz bewitched,
+dat 'ud take de spell away. I
+ain't tellin' you no lie, ma'm—fer de longes'
+kinder minnit I didn't no mo' b'lieve
+dat Miss Sadie wuz settin' dar in my house
+tellin' me dat kinder rigamarole, dan I
+b'lieve I'm flyin' right now. Dat bein' de
+case, I bleeze ter fall back on bewitchments,
+an' so I walk 'roun' de house. But
+when I went back in, dar she wuz, settin'
+in a cheer an' lookin' up at de rafters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wellum, I went in an' drapt down in
+a cheer an' lookt at 'er. Bimeby, I say,
+'Miss Sadie, does you mean ter set dar an'
+tell me youer gwine 'way 'kaze yo' husban'
+comin' home?' She flung her arms behime
+'er head, she did, an' say, 'I ain't
+none er his wife; I des been playin' off!'
+De way she look an' de way she say it
+wuz 'nuff fer me. I wuz pairlized; yessum,
+I wuz dumfounder'd. Ef anybody
+had des but totch me wid de tip er der
+finger, I'd 'a' fell off'n dat cheer an' never
+stirred atter I hit de flo'. Ever'thing 'bout
+de house lookt quare. Miss Vallie had a
+lookin'-glass one time wid de pictur' uv a
+church at de bottom. When de glass got
+broke, she gimme de pictur', an' I sot it
+up on de mantel-shelf. I never know'd
+'fo' dat night dat de steeple er der church
+wuz crooked. But dar 'twuz. Mo' dan
+dat I cotch myse'f feelin' er my fingers
+fer ter see ef 'twuz me an' ef I wuz dar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Talk 'bout <i>dreams</i>! Dey wa'n't no
+dream could beat dat, I don't keer how
+twisted it mought be. An' den, ma'm,
+she sot back dar an' tol' me de whole tale
+'bout how she come ter be dar. I'll never
+tell it like she did; dey ain't nobody in de
+wide worl' kin do dat. But it seem like she
+an' Marse Jesse wuz stayin' in de same
+neighborhoods, er stayin' at de same place,
+he a-fiddlin' an' she a-knockin' on de peanner
+er de harp, I fergit which. Anyhow,
+dey seed a heap er one an'er. Bofe un
+um had come dar fum way off yan', an'
+ain't got nobody but deyse'f fer ter 'pen'
+on, an' dat kinder flung um tergedder. I
+speck dey must er swapt talk 'bout love
+an' marryin'—you know yo'se'f, ma'm, dat
+dat's de way young folks is. Howsomever
+dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter
+tease 'er, sot down one day an' writ a long
+letter ter his wife. Tooby sho' he ain't got
+no wife, but he des make out he got one,
+an' dat letter he lef' layin' 'roun' whar
+Miss Sadie kin see it. 'Twa'n't in no envelyup,
+ner nothin', an' you know mighty
+well, ma'm, dat when a 'oman, young er
+ol', see dat kinder letter layin' 'roun' she'd
+die ef she don't read it. Fum de way
+Miss Sadie talk, dat letter must 'a' stirred
+up a coolness 'twix' um, 'kaze de mornin'
+when he wuz gwine on dat 'scursion,
+Marse Jesse pass by de place whar she
+wuz settin' at an' flung de letter in her
+lap an' say, 'What's in dar wuz fer you.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an' de
+fus' news Miss Sadie know'd de papers wuz
+full er de names er dem what got drownded
+in de boat, an' Marse Jesse head de roll,
+'kaze he wuz de mos' pop'lous music-maker
+in de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de
+gal an' de letter. I wish I could tell dis
+part like she tol' me settin' dar in my house.
+You'll never git it straight in yo' head
+less'n you'd 'a' been dar an' hear de way
+she tol' it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty
+well dat a white 'oman ain't got no bizness
+parmin' 'erse'f off ez a man's wife. But
+de way she tol' it tuck all de rough aidges
+off'n it. She wuz dar in dat big town,
+wuss'n a wilderness, ez you may say, by
+'erse'f, nobody 'pen' in on 'er an' nobody
+ter 'pen' on, tired down an' plum wo' out,
+an' wid all dem kinder longin's what you
+know yo'se'f, ma'm, all wimmen bleeze ter
+have, ef dey er white er ef dey er black.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yit she ain't never tol' nobody dat she
+wuz Marse Jesse's wife. She des han' de
+letter what she'd kep' ter Miss Fanny, an'
+fell down on de flo' in a dead faint, an'
+she say dat ef it hadn't but 'a' been fer me,
+she'd a got out er de bed dat fust night
+an' went 'way fum dar; an' I know dat's
+so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin' fer ter git
+up fum dar. But at de time I put all dat
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_317' name='Page_317' href='#Page_317'>317</a></span>
+down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an'
+made 'er stay in bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wellum, ef I know'd all de books in
+de worl' by heart, I couldn't tell you how
+I felt atter she done tol' me dat tale. She
+sot back dar des ez calm ez a baby. Bimeby
+she say, 'I'm glad I tol' you; I feel
+better dan I felt in a mighty long time.'
+It look like, ma'm, dat a load'd been lift
+fum 'er min'. Now I know'd pine blank
+dat sump'n got ter be done, 'kaze de train'd
+be in at midnight, an' den when Marse
+Jesse come dey'd be a tarrfyin' time at
+Gabe Towers's. Atter while I up an' ax
+'er, 'Miss Sadie, did you reely love Marse
+Jesse?' She say, 'Yes, I did'—des so.
+I ax 'er, 'Does you love 'im now?' She
+say, 'Yes, I does—an' I love dem ar
+people up dar at de house; dat de reason
+I'm gwine 'way.' She talk right out; she
+done come to de p'int whar she ain't got
+nothin' ter hide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, 'Well, Miss Sadie, dem folks
+up at de house, dey loves you.' She sorter
+flincht at dis. I 'low, 'Dey been mighty
+good ter you. What you done, you done
+done, an' dat can't be holp, but what you
+ain't gone an' done, dat kin be holp; an'
+what you oughter do, dat oughtn't ter be
+holp.' I see 'er clinch 'er han's an' den
+I riz fum de cheer." Suiting the action to
+the word, Aunt Minervy Ann rose from
+the step where she had been sitting, and
+moved toward the lady of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I riz, I did, an' tuck my stan' befo' 'er.
+I 'low, 'You say you love Marse Jesse, an'
+you say you love his folks. Well, den ef
+you got any blood in you, ef you got any
+heart in yo' body, ef you got any feelin' fer
+anybody in de roun' worl' 'cep'n' yo' naked
+se'f, you'll go up dar ter dat house an' tell
+Gabe Towers dat you want ter see 'im, an'
+you'll tell Fanny Towers dat you want ter
+see her, an' you'll stan' up befo' um an'
+tell um de tale you tol' ter me, word fer
+word. Ef you'll do dat, an' you hatter
+come back here, <i>come! come!</i> Bless God!
+<i>come!</i> an' me an' Hamp'll rake an' scrape
+up 'nuff money fer ter kyar you whar you
+gwine. An' don't you be a-skeer'd er
+Gabe Towers. Me an' Marse Tumlin ain't
+a-skeer'd un 'im. I'm gwine wid you, an'
+ef he say one word out de way, you des
+come ter de do' an' call me, an' ef I don't
+preach his funer'l, it'll be bekaze de Lord'll
+strike me dumb!' <i>An' she went!</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy paused. Once again she
+had wrought the miracle of summoning to
+life one of the crises through which she
+had passed with others. It was not the
+words she used. There was nothing in
+them to stir the heart or quicken the pulse.
+Her power lay in the tones of her voice,
+whereby she was able to recall the passion
+of a moment that had long spent itself;
+in the fluent and responsive attitudes; in
+gesticulation that told far more than her
+words did. The light from the vestibule
+lamp shone full upon her and upon the
+lady whom she unconsciously selected to
+play the part of the young woman whose
+story she was telling. The illusion was
+perfect. We were in Aunt Minervy Ann's
+house, Miss Sadie was sitting helpless and
+hopeless before her—the whole scene was
+vivid and complete. She paused; her
+arm, which had been outstretched and
+rigid for an instant, slowly fell to her side,
+and—the illusion was gone; but while it
+lasted, it was as real as any sudden and extraordinary
+experience can be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann resumed her seat,
+with a chuckle, apparently ashamed that
+she had been betrayed into such a display
+of energy and emotion, saying, "Yessum,
+she sho' went."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't wonder at it," remarked the
+lady of the house, with a long-drawn sigh
+of relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Minervy Ann laughed again, rather
+sheepishly, and then, after rubbing her
+hands together, took up the thread of the
+narrative, this time directing her words to
+me: "All de way ter de house, suh, she
+ain't say two words. She had holt er my
+han', but she ain't walk like she uz weak.
+She went along ez peart ez I did. When we
+got dar, some er de niggers wuz out in de
+flower-gyarden an' out in de big grove callin'
+'er; an' dey call so loud dat I hatter put
+um down. 'Hush up!' I say, 'an' go on
+'bout yo' bizness! Can't yo' Miss Sadie
+take a walk widout a whole passel er you
+niggers a-hollerin' yo' heads off?' One un
+um make answer, 'Miss Fanny huntin' fer
+'er.' She sorter grip my han' at dat, but
+I say, 'She de one you wanter see—her
+an' Gabe Towers.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We went up on de po'ch, an' dar wuz
+Miss Fanny an' likewise Marse Gabe. I
+know'd what dey wanted; dey wanted ter
+talk wid 'er 'bout Marse Jesse. She clum
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_318' name='Page_318' href='#Page_318'>318</a></span>
+de steps fus' an' I clum atter her. She
+cotch er 'breff hard when she fus' hit de
+steps, an' den it come over me like a flash
+how deep an' big her trouble wuz, an' I
+tell you right now, ef dat had 'a' been Miss
+Vallie gwine up dar, I b'lieve I'd a-flew at
+ol' Gabe Towers an' to' 'im lim' fum lim'
+'fo' anybody could 'a' pull me off. Hit's
+de trufe! You may laugh, but I sho' would
+'a' done it. I had it in me. Miss Fanny
+seed sump'n wuz wrong, de minnit de light
+fell on de gal's face. She say, 'Why,
+Sadie, darlin', what de matter wid you?'—des
+so—an' made ez ef ter put 'er arms
+'roun' 'er; but Miss Sadie swunk back.
+Miss Fanny sorter swell up. She say, 'Oh,
+ef I've hurt yo' feelin's ter-day—<i>ter-day</i>
+uv all de days—please, please fergi' me!'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, I dunner whar all dis gwine
+ter lead ter, an' I put in, 'She des wanter
+have a talk wid you an' Marse Gabe, Miss
+Fanny; an' ef ter-day is one er de days her
+feelin's oughtn'ter be hurted, take keer dat
+you don't do it. Kyar 'er in de parler
+dar, Miss Fanny.' I speck you'll think I
+wuz takin' a mighty heap on myse'f, fer a
+nigger 'oman," remarked Aunt Minervy
+Ann, smoothing the wrinkles out of her lap,
+"but I wuz des ez much at home in dat
+house ez I wuz in my own, an' des ez free
+wid um ez I wuz wid my own folks. Miss
+Fanny look skeer'd, an' Marse Gabe foller'd
+atter, rubbin' a little mole he had on
+de top er his head. When he wus worried
+er aggervated, he allers rub dat mole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, dey went in, dey did, an' I
+shot de do' an' tuck up my stan' close by,
+ready fer to go in when Miss Sadie call me.
+I had myse'f keyed up ter de p'int whar I'd
+'a' tol' Marse Gabe sump'n 'bout his own
+fambly connection; you know dey ain't
+nobody but what got i'on rust on some er
+der cloze. But dey stayed in dar an' stayed,
+twel I 'gun ter git oneasy. All kinder quare
+idees run th'oo my head. Atter while some
+un pull de do' open, an' hol' it dat away,
+an' I hear Marse Gabe say, wid a trimble
+an' ketch in his th'oat, 'Don't talk so, chil'.
+Ef you done wrong, you ain't hurt nobody
+but yo'se'f, an' it oughtn'ter hurt you. You
+been a mighty big blessin' ter me, an' ter
+Fanny here, an' I wouldn't 'a' missed
+knowin' you, not fer nothin'. Wid dat, he
+come out cle'rin' up his th'oat an' blowin'
+his nose twel it soun' like a dinner-horn.
+His eye fell on me, an' he 'low, 'Look like
+you er allers on han' when dey's trouble.'
+I made answer, 'Well, Marse Gabe, dey
+might be wusser ones 'roun' dan me.' He
+look at me right hard an' say, 'Dey ain't
+no better, Minervy Ann.' 'Well, suh, little
+mo' an' I'd 'a' broke down, it come so
+sudden. I had ter gulp hard an' quick, I
+tell you. He say, 'Minervy Ann, go back
+dar an' tell de house-gal ter wake up de
+carriage-driver ef he's 'sleep, an' tell 'im to
+go meet Jesse at de train. An' he mus'
+tell Jesse dat we'd 'a' all come, but his
+ma ain't feelin' so well.' I say, 'I'll go
+wake 'im up myse'f, suh.' I look in de parler
+an' say, 'Miss Sadie, does you need me
+right now?' She 'low, 'No, not right now;
+I'll stay twel—twel Mr. Towers come.'
+Miss Fanny wuz settin' dar holdin' Miss
+Sadie's han'.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll never tell you how dey patcht it up
+in dar, but I made a long guess. Fus' an'
+fo'mus', dey wuz right down fon' er Miss
+Sadie, an' den ef she run off time Marse
+Jesse put his foot in de town dey'd be a
+big scandal; an' so dey fix it up dat ef she
+wuz bleeze ter go, 'twuz better to go a
+mont' er two atter Marse Jesse come back.
+Folks may like you mighty well, but dey
+allers got one eye on der own consarns.
+Dat de way I put it down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, de wuss job wuz lef' fer de
+las', 'kaze dar wuz Marse Jesse. Sump'n
+tol' me dat he oughter know what been
+gwine on 'fo' he got in de house, 'kaze den
+he won't be aggervated inter sayin' an doin'
+sump'n he oughtn'ter. So when de carriage
+wuz ready, I got in an' went down
+ter de depot; an' when Marse Jesse got off
+de train, I wuz de fus' one he laid eyes on.
+I'd 'a' never know'd 'im in de worl', but
+he know'd me. He holler out, 'Ef dar
+ain't Aunt Minervy Ann! Bless yo' ol'
+soul! how you come on anyhow?' He
+come mighty nigh huggin' me, he wuz so
+glad ter see me. He wuz big ez a skinned
+hoss an' strong ez a mule. He say, 'Ef
+I had you in my min' once, Aunt Minervy
+Ann, I had you in dar ten thousan' times.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Whiles de carriage rollin' 'long an'
+grindin' de san' I try ter gi' 'im a kinder
+inkling er what been gwine on, but 'twuz
+all a joke wid 'im. I wuz fear'd I mought
+go at 'im de wrong way, but I can't do
+no better. I say, 'Marse Jesse, yo' wife
+been waitin' here fer you a long time.'
+He laugh an' 'low, 'Oh, yes! did she
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_319' name='Page_319' href='#Page_319'>319</a></span>
+bring de childun? I say, 'Shucks, Marse
+Jesse! Dey's a lady in deep trouble at
+Marse Gabe's house, an' I don't want
+you ter go dar jokin'. She's a monst'us
+fine lady, too.' Dis kinder steady 'im, an'
+he say, 'All right, Aunt Minervy Ann;
+I'll behave myse'f des like a Sunday-school
+scholar. I won't say bad words
+an' I won't talk loud.' He had his fiddle-case
+in his lap, an' he drummed on it like
+he keepin' time ter some chune in his min'.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, we got dar in de due time,
+an' 'twuz a great meetin' 'twixt Marse
+Jesse an' his folks. Dey des swarmed on
+'im, ez you may say, an' while dis gwine
+on, I went in de parler whar Miss Sadie
+wuz. She wuz pale, tooby sho', but she
+had done firm'd 'erse'f. She wuz standin'
+by de fier-place, lookin' down, but she
+lookt up when she hear de do' open, an'
+den she say, 'I'm mighty glad it's you,
+Aunt Minervy Ann; I want you ter stay
+in here.' I 'low, 'I'll stay, honey, ef you
+say stay.' Den she tuck 'er stand by me
+an' cotch holt er my arm wid bofe 'er
+han's an' kinder leant again me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bimeby, here come Marse Jesse.
+Trouble wuz in his eye when he open de
+do', but when he saw de gal, his face lit
+up des like when you strike a match in a
+closet. He say, 'Why, Miss Sadie! You
+dunner how glad I is ter see you. I been
+huntin' all over de country fer you.' He
+make ez ef ter shake han's, but she draw'd
+back. Dis cut 'im. He say, 'What de
+matter? Who you in mournin' fer?'
+She 'low, 'Fer myse'f.' Wid dat she wuz
+gwine on ter tell 'im 'bout what she done,
+but he wouldn't have it dat away. He
+say, 'When I come back ter life, atter I
+wuz drownded, I 'gun ter hunt fer you des
+ez soon's I got out'n de hospittle. I wuz
+huntin' fer you ter tell you dat I love you.
+I'd 'a' tol' you dat den, an' I tell you dat
+now.' She grip my arm mighty hard at
+dat. Marse Jesse went on mightly. He
+tell 'er dat she ain't done nobody no harm,
+dat she wuz welcome ter his name ef he'd
+'a' been dead, an' mo' welcome now dat he
+wuz livin'. She try ter put in a word here
+an' dar, but he won't have it. Stan'in' up
+dar he wuz ol' Gabe Towers over ag'in;
+'twuz de fus' time I know'd he faver'd 'im.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He tol' 'er 'bout how he wrenched a
+do' off'n one er de rooms in de boat, an'
+how he floated on dat twel he got so col'
+an' num' dat he can't hol' on no longer,
+an' how he turn loose an' don't know
+nothin' twel he wake up in some yuther
+town; an' how, atter he git well, he had
+de plooisy an' lay dar a mont' er two, an'
+den he 'gun ter hunt fer her. He went
+'way up dar ter Hampsher whar she come
+fum, but she ain't dar, an' den he come
+home; an' won't she be good 'nuff ter set
+down an' listen at 'im?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, suh, dey wuz mo' in Marse Jesse
+dan I had any idee. He wuz a rank
+talker, sho'. I see 'er face warmin' up,
+an' I say, 'Miss Sadie, I speck I better
+be gwine.' Marse Jesse say, 'You ain't in
+my way, Aunt Minervy Ann; I done
+foun' my sweetheart, an' I ain't gwine ter
+lose 'er no mo', you kin des bet on dat.'
+She ain't say nothin', an' I know'd purty
+well dat eve'ything wuz all skew vee."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hope they married," remarked the
+lady of the house, after waiting a moment
+for Aunt Minervy Ann to resume. There
+was just a shade of suspicion in her tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, dey married, all right 'nuff," said
+Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Didn't it create a good deal of talk?"
+the lady asked, suspicion still in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Talk? No, ma'm! De man what dey
+git de license fum wuz Miss Fanny's br'er,
+Gus Featherstone, an' de man what married
+um wuz Marse Gabe's br'er, John
+Towers. Dey wa'n't nobody ter do no
+talkin'. De nex' mornin' me an' Miss
+Sadie an' Marse Jesse got in de carriage
+an' drove out ter John Towers's place
+whar he runnin' a church, an' 'twuz all
+done an' over wid mos' quick ez a nigger
+kin swaller a dram."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What do you think of it?" I asked
+the lady of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, it is almost like a story in a
+book."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does dey put dat kinder doin's in
+books?" asked Aunt Minervy Ann, with
+some solicitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly," replied the lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wid all de turmile, an' trouble, an'
+tribulation—an' all de worry an' aggervation?
+Well, Hamp wanted me ter l'arn
+how ter read, but I thank my stars dat I
+can't read no books. Dey's 'nuff er all dat
+right whar we live at widout huntin' it up
+in books."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After this just observation, it was time
+to put out the lights.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_320' name='Page_320' href='#Page_320'>320</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-063" id="i-063"></a>
+<img src="images/i-063.png" width="495" height="134" alt="Decoration" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<h2 class="postDeco">
+AGUINALDO'S CAPITAL
+<br />
+<span class="s08">WHY MALOLOS WAS CHOSEN</span>
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Lieutenant-Colonel J. D. Miley</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div  class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcape.png" width="104" height="105" alt="E" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">Early in May, 1898, Admiral
+Dewey brought from
+Hong Kong on the United
+States steamship McCulloch,
+Aguinaldo with seventeen
+of his colleagues and
+landed them at Cavité. Aguinaldo, in addition
+to prosecuting a vigorous campaign
+against the Spaniards, at once began organizing
+a government, dictatorial in form
+and in fact, of which Cavité remained the
+Capital until the arrival of General Anderson
+early in July. When the latter had
+established his head-quarters at Cavité
+and commenced active preparations for
+the coming attack on Manila, Aguinaldo
+changed his Capital to Bacoor, a little
+village a few miles from Cavité, and nearer
+to Manila. The Capital remained at
+Bacoor until it was seen that General
+Merritt would not permit armed Insurgents
+to enter Manila, when Malolos was
+proclaimed the Capital and Aguinaldo
+himself took up his residence there early
+in September, and the newly elected Filipino
+Congress met at the same place on
+the 20th of the same month.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From that time until its capture on
+March 31st Malolos was of the first importance
+to the Insurgents, but its fall was
+disappointing to many, for the cry of
+"On to Malolos" had been very popular,
+and it had been expected that the consequences
+of its occupation by American
+troops would be immediate and far-reaching.
+It simply furnished one more instance
+in history where the fall of an
+enemy's Capital failed to bring to a successful
+ending a campaign or a war.
+The only two instances that may be cited
+against this statement really tend to prove
+the proposition, for France was defeated
+before the entry of Paris, and the Confederacy
+was in its last extremity when
+Richmond fell. The immediate results
+would have been the same in either case
+if neither the one nor the other had been
+occupied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Malolos is twenty-two miles from Manila,
+in the Province of Bulacan, on the
+railway connecting Manila with Dagupan,
+the only one in the Philippine Islands.
+This made it very accessible, but the real
+reason for the selection of Malolos as the
+Insurgent Capital was the fact that the
+present revolution had its first beginnings
+there; that the place persistently remained
+a hot-bed of revolution, and as a reward
+for the patriotism and loyalty of this picturesque
+little town, the legendary seat of
+the Bulacan kings, Aguinaldo fixed upon
+it as the site of his permanent Capital.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aguinaldo now lays claim to descent
+from the Bulacan kings, but the best informed
+Filipinos say that this occurred to
+him after coming to Malolos, and was
+prompted by an effort to inspire among
+his followers a greater awe and respect.
+His followers ascribe to him supernatural
+powers that enable him to perform miracles
+and make him proof against the bullets of
+his enemies. Whether he encourages them
+in this belief cannot be verified. This
+peculiar power among the Filipinos is
+known as "<i>anting anting</i>" and is popularly
+supposed to be possessed by many. A
+wily Filipino goes through a battle or escapes
+some danger and then exhibits a
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_321' name='Page_321' href='#Page_321'>321</a></span>
+curiously carved knife-handle or match-box
+or piece of jewelry or coin, and claims that
+his immunity is due to this trinket. He is
+at once regarded as an "<i>anting anting</i>"
+man, and his power and fame grow and
+spread at each subsequent lucky escape.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-064" id="i-064"></a>
+<img src="images/i-064.png" width="598" height="491" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Dwelling-house in Malolos, Philippine Islands, Thatched with Nipa.<br />
+<span class="s09">The inmates have just returned, satisfied that they are safe under American occupation.
+</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Malolos lies in the heart of a valley of
+marvellous fertility, extending north from
+Manila, and is surrounded by fields, large
+and small, fringed with rows of bamboo
+and cultivated principally to rice. As one
+rides through this valley, with the beautiful,
+glossy-leaved mango trees dotting it in all
+directions, he cannot fail to be reminded,
+if he has seen them both, of the beautiful
+Santa Clara Valley of California, so much
+are they alike.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first mutterings of the revolution
+were heard in Malolos in 1888. In the
+same year Masonry was first introduced
+into the Philippine Islands by Don Centeno,
+the Civil Governor of Manila, who
+encouraged the diffusion of its teachings
+among the natives, and assisted in the formation
+of chapters in the city. He was
+influenced to do this through hostility to
+the Archbishop and to the Church.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Catholicism is radically opposed to secret
+societies of any kind, and the fight between
+the Archbishop, as representative of
+the Church, and the Masons grew so bitter
+that finally a determined attack was made
+upon the Archbishop's life. The leaders
+were promptly arrested and thrown into
+prison, and from there they sent a memorial
+to the Queen, remarkable for its eloquence,
+and for the fact that it revealed a widespread
+and deeply rooted devotion to the
+principles of freedom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So strict was the surveillance over the
+meetings of the Masons in Manila, now
+that it was suspected they were merely a
+cloak for the revolutionary discussions,
+that Malolos soon became the Mecca for
+all revolutionists. It had always been a
+popular place for hunters and fishermen,
+and now many of the hunting lodges became
+Masonic rendezvous. The well-to-do
+and educated classes quickly and eagerly
+accepted the revolutionary teachings,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_322' name='Page_322' href='#Page_322'>322</a></span>
+and Malolos, from 1888, was regarded as
+a strong revolutionary centre. It must be
+borne in mind that the Filipino never became
+a pure Mason, accepting and practising
+the teachings of that ancient Society.
+Only some of the outward forms of the
+Society were adopted and used, under
+cover of which the spread of revolutionary
+ideas was made easy. Before 1888 there
+were scarcely two dozen Filipinos who
+were Masons, and these were residents of
+Paris or other European
+Capitals, but
+from that year the
+spread of the Society
+was rapid. In 1892
+there were many
+lodges all over the
+Archipelago, and
+women were admitted
+as members. Its
+mysteries and symbols
+appealed to the
+barbaric, half-civilized
+natives, and
+these they retained,
+while their meetings were centres of discussions
+of the abstract and theoretical
+principles of freedom and independence
+with which the Malay brain is always
+pregnant. Discussions soon led to plotting
+against the Spanish authorities and
+the preliminary steps toward revolution,
+and what was Masonry only in name soon
+gave way to the Filipino League, of
+which Rizal was the leader. This league
+was an association with a basic form of
+Masonry, but whose true designs were
+political and anti-Spanish.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-065" id="i-065"></a>
+<img src="images/i-065.png" width="544" height="426" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Exterior and Interior of the Insurgent Capitol in Malolos while Occupied as
+Head-quarters of the Utah Light Battery.<br />
+<span class="s09">
+In this old church the Filipino Revolutionary Congress formulated the Constitution
+which was proclaimed on January 21, 1899.</span>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+The methods of the league were soon
+found to be not radical enough by a majority
+of the members, and the league, in
+1894, was dissolved and the formidable
+and bloody Katipunan formed under the
+leadership of Marcelo Hilarío del Pilar.
+Its object was to secure the freedom of the
+Philippines by putting to the sword all the
+Spaniards in the Archipelago. Manila,
+of course, was the seat of the supreme
+council of the Katipunan, and its branches
+or chapters were established in all the provinces
+and principal towns of the Islands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every member on being initiated
+into the Society received a name by
+which he was always thereafter known
+to the other members, and all were
+masked. In this way no one knew
+the identity of any other member, and
+even a man's next door neighbor or
+his brother or partner in business
+might be seated next to him nightly
+at the Katipunan Lodge and he would
+never be the wiser. At initiation the
+new member took a bloody oath and subscribed
+to it by dipping his pen in the
+blood drawn from an incision in his left
+arm. This idea is said to have been derived
+from a painting called "<i>Pacto de
+Sangre</i>," executed in Madrid by a famous
+Filipino painter, Juan Luna. After the
+revolution broke out in 1896, the members
+of the Katipunan could always be
+identified among the dead and prisoners
+by the scars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A symbolic chart was in the possession
+of each member, and by that he could find
+the Katipunan Lodge in the provinces or
+towns wherever he might be and identify
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_323' name='Page_323' href='#Page_323'>323</a></span>
+himself by means of it. As an example of
+the names borne by the members, General
+Ricarte, now in the Insurgents' army,
+was known under the name of "Vivora,"
+meaning viper, poisonous snake. The
+present General Pilar, of whom so much
+is heard in the uprising against the Americans,
+is not the Pilar of Katipunan fame,
+though it is generally taken for granted
+that he is. The present Pilar assumed that
+name some years ago, but his characteristics
+are such as to easily lead one to believe
+that he and the Pilar who originated the
+Katipunan are one and the same.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-066" id="i-066"></a>
+<img src="images/i-066.png" width="600" height="257" alt="" />
+
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">The Train which Makes Two Trips Daily from Manila to Malolos and Return.
+<br />
+<span class="s09">It carries forage, rations, fresh bread and meat, and distilled water for the American troops, and brings back the sick and wounded
+to the hospitals.</span>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+From 1888 to 1892 Malolos seems to
+have been the most troublesome place in
+the Islands to the Colonial Government.
+There are slightly over five thousand towns
+distributed over the Archipelago, and out of
+these Malolos was the only one which rejected
+the parish priests that the Government
+selected. As Malolos was known to
+be much disaffected, great care was taken
+to select the most exemplary of priests to
+be sent there, but without avail. The first
+two sent were deported and the third assassinated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>El Katipunan del Norte</i> (the northern
+branch of the Katipunan) was most active
+in the Province of Bulacan and especially
+around Malolos. Contributions poured
+into the revolutionary fund, and when
+open rebellion finally broke out in August,
+1896, the Spaniards fought the rebels over
+very much the same ground as the Americans
+fought the Insurgents in the advance
+from Caloocan to Malolos and beyond.
+Peace was agreed upon in December,
+1897, at Biac-na-bato, in the Province of
+Bulacan, and until May, 1898, there was a
+period of quiet in the Islands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While the Insurgent Capital still remained
+at Cavité, Aguinaldo, on June
+18th and 23d, respectively, issued the proclamations
+which gave his government a
+representative form. In the proclamation
+of the 18th he invites attention to the Providential
+circumstances that had placed him
+in the position in which he then found
+himself, and signifies his intention not to
+shrink from his responsibilities, but to
+make the redemption of his people, "from
+slavery and tyranny, regaining our liberty
+and entrance into the concert of civilized
+nations," the aspiration of his whole life,
+and the "final object of all my efforts
+and strength." In the same proclamation
+the methods were given by which the
+chiefs of towns and provinces and the representatives
+to the Revolutionary Congress
+were to be elected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the proclamation of the 23d it was
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_324' name='Page_324' href='#Page_324'>324</a></span>
+directed that the Dictatorial Government
+should thereafter be styled the Revolutionary
+Government and that the Dictator
+should thenceforth be known as the President
+of the Revolutionary Government.
+The executive, legislative, and judicial
+powers were defined and the manner of
+administering them was prescribed, and
+on the 27th of June the rules concerning
+the details of installing the government
+were published.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-067" id="i-067"></a>
+<img src="images/i-067.png" width="563" height="411" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Street Scene in Malolos, Philippine Islands.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+From Bacoor, on the 6th of August, was
+sent the letter to foreign governments, in
+which the "President of the Revolutionary
+Government of the Philippines, and in the
+name and representation of the Philippine
+people, asks the support of all the powers
+of the civilized world, and earnestly entreats
+them to proceed to the formal recognition
+of the belligerency of the revolution
+and the independence of the Philippines,
+since they are the means designated
+by Providence to maintain the equilibrium
+between peoples, sustaining the weak and
+restraining the strong, to the end that by
+these means shall shine forth and be realized
+the most complete justice in the
+indefinite progress of humanity."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Augustinians had been assigned to
+the parish of Malolos, and in fact this
+body of friars held all the livings in the
+Province of Bulacan. In the convent
+forming part of a new church erected by
+them at Malolos, Aguinaldo established his
+head-quarters, surrounded by considerable
+barbaric splendor and ceremonial. This
+was known as the "White House" of the
+Insurgent Government. The State Department
+was also in the same building,
+and in a less pretentious structure a hundred
+yards away the Treasury Department
+was installed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the American troops occupied
+Malolos, General MacArthur made this
+building his head-quarters, and in it was
+found a small field-safe containing some
+drafts and a little money. The postage
+and telegraph stamps issued by the Insurgent
+Government were made here, but all
+had been removed. The convent with
+the church adjoining, and the Treasury
+Department, were on two sides of the
+plaza of Malolos, and on the third side
+the War Department was established in
+some buildings that the Third United
+States Artillery afterward occupied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old Augustinian church some distance
+from the plaza had been taken as
+the Insurgent Capitol. Here the Revolutionary
+Congress assembled on September
+20, 1898, and sat in deliberation until,
+in January, 1899, the Political Constitution
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_325' name='Page_325' href='#Page_325'>325</a></span>
+of the Filipino State was given
+to the world. The constitution was proclaimed
+by Aguinaldo on the 21st of the
+month.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Malolos has a population variously estimated
+at from five to seven thousand, and
+as the Americans entered it, every man,
+woman, and child left with the retreating
+army.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the exception of American troops
+moving about, the place was in a state of
+desolation. The refugees tried to take
+with them most of their valuable possessions,
+but the houses remained just as
+they left them. It was weeks before any
+of them dared to return, and then they
+came one or two at a time, carrying over
+their shoulders a bamboo rod to which
+was attached a white cloth as a flag of
+truce. They timidly approached their
+houses, and, finding them intact, and that
+there was really nothing to fear, hastened
+back into the country to bring their families
+and tell their neighbors.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>
+IN A POPPY GARDEN
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Sara King Wiley</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Beyond the gold-green lane the poppy garden</p>
+<p>Flutters and flaunts, like sunset seas aglow.</p>
+<p>The frosty, fuzzy stalks and blue leaf banners</p>
+<p class="i2">Ranging in row on row.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Here are some multi-petaled, ruby crimson,</p>
+<p>Into a crumpled purple withering,</p>
+<p>Like tattered velvet old and dim and dusty</p>
+<p class="i2">Of a neglected king.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Whiter are these than are the moon-white lilies;</p>
+<p>Censers that dainty fragrances exhale;</p>
+<p>Each, when the early sun fills with his ardor,</p>
+<p class="i2">Beams like a Holy Grail.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Pure, pure and shining gold these silk-smooth goblets,</p>
+<p>Brimming with drowsy, heady scents to steep</p>
+<p>The bold inbreathing spirit in gold visions,</p>
+<p class="i2">Bright mysteries of sleep.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And here, O, here, are they the best belovèd,</p>
+<p>Scarlet and splendid as the soul's desire,</p>
+<p>With smouldered hearts hot from the glorious, daring</p>
+<p class="i2">Welcome of the sun's fire.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,</p>
+<p>Under the soft, sweet sky of summer blue,</p>
+<p>O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,</p>
+<p class="i2">When will your dreams come true?"</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"For every dream in this my poppy garden</p>
+<p>A springing hope within my heart began;</p>
+<p>Hopes are quick seeds of the world's wide garden,</p>
+<p class="i2">Lord of whose life is man."</p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_326' name='Page_326' href='#Page_326'>326</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-069" id="i-069"></a>
+<img src="images/i-069.png" width="489" height="133" alt="Decoration" />
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<h2 class="postDeco">
+A COPLEY BOY
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By Charles Warren</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div  class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapb.png" width="101" height="101" alt="B" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">Bellingham was intoxicated;
+there's no doubt
+about that at all," said
+Dawson of the <i>Standard</i>.
+"All the men on the press
+noticed it, and the chairman
+of his own party city committee admitted
+it to us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, that makes no difference except
+that it's all the better for us," said Blakely.
+"It was a rascally, indecent attack, and
+I guess the Governor won't hesitate any
+longer about using that matter you and
+I worked up for him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jim Blakely was the editor of a small
+newspaper with a very limited circulation
+but having an immense political influence.
+More keen than the shrewdest of the political
+managers, more powerful than the
+chairman of the State committee, more resourceful
+than all the party candidates, Jim
+Blakely sat in his little office and suggested
+the most successful political movements
+throughout the State. No candidate for
+Governor even thought of conducting a
+campaign without the aid and supervision
+of Jim Blakely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Governor Clinton in this campaign
+had been somewhat restive under his management,
+and had declined to follow absolutely
+the lines laid out for him by Blakely
+and his other party associates. Clinton's
+opponent, Alfred P. Bellingham, the rival
+candidate for Governor, was a man of fifty
+years or thereabout—a political nonentity,
+having no opinion on any question which
+he could not readily change the next day
+with the greatest facility. Bellingham had
+evaded every honest political issue which
+Clinton had tried to force him to meet, and
+had conducted a campaign of the lowest
+and meanest personalities. But, in opposition
+to the advice of his party managers,
+Governor Clinton had steadfastly declined
+to meet Bellingham with his own weapons;
+and to indulge in attacks upon his private
+career.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then one day the reporter Dawson had
+brought to Blakely's attention certain important
+discoveries which he had made in
+raking over Bellingham's past life. The
+first was the record of an indictment found
+twenty-three years ago against Bellingham
+for altering ballots cast at a representative
+election, with intent to defraud, but which
+had been nol prossed by the District Attorney
+owing to political pressure. The
+other was the record of an arrest of Bellingham
+some ten years ago for drunkenness
+and disorderly conduct, and his conviction
+and fine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clinton's party managers had received
+the news with great enthusiasm. They
+had recognized the splendid ammunition
+which these records would furnish; and
+they earnestly urged the Governor to make
+use of them upon the stump.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he had said, "I won't descend
+to that depth. If I can't be elected without
+the aid of those things, then let the people
+defeat me." And he had persisted in this
+refusal, despite the entreaties of his political
+friends and the disgust of his managers.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+It was a quarter before nine; and at
+nine o'clock it was the custom for Governor
+Clinton to meet his party managers
+every morning, to discuss the speeches of
+his opponent made the night before and
+to plan out the trend for the evening's
+speeches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This vile abuse of last night of Bellingham's
+I guess will settle it," said Blakely
+again; and he went to his safe and brought
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_327' name='Page_327' href='#Page_327'>327</a></span>
+out the certified copies of the legal proceedings.
+As he did so Governor Clinton
+came into the office. He looked flushed
+and angry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you read that scoundrel's attack
+on me, Jim?" he asked, hurriedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," said Blakely in a casual manner,
+as if it was of no importance. He knew
+enough now not to try to force the Governor's
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?" said the Governor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," answered Blakely, "it's only
+what you've got to expect all the rest of
+the campaign." Clinton hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he said; "Jim, I've got enough.
+He's pushed me too far. I can't keep
+silent any longer. Have you got those
+documents you were telling me about?"
+Blakely pointed silently to the papers on
+his desk and lit his pipe. Clinton examined
+them with curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you account for last night's
+speech?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Drunk again," replied Blakely. "Tell
+him, Bill." Dawson repeated to the Governor
+what he had just told Blakely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going up to Stanfield at half-past
+nine," the Governor said, still red with
+wrath, "to my old school, Copley School.
+They've asked me to make the speech on
+the awarding of the prize cups. It's
+Founder's Day. I'm billed for a rally to-night,
+I believe, at Dunster. Well, give me
+those papers and I'll make a speech there
+at Dunster to-night that will make that fool
+Bellingham wish he'd never been born."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Blakely, metaphorically speaking, inwardly
+hugged himself; but he did not
+allow Clinton to see his joy at the Governor's
+conversion. Placing the papers carefully
+in his pocket, Clinton, after a few
+minutes' further talk, left the room, rode
+down to the station, and boarded the Southwestern
+Limited. Blakely waited until the
+door closed behind him and then slapped
+Dawson on the back. "I thought we'd
+land him finally. The Governor's a
+mighty good fellow, but he's got some high-toned
+views about politics that have to be
+gradually knocked out of him. His political
+ideas are very crude. He thinks
+you catch an election just as you catch
+cold. He expects a grateful people to
+present him with the election on a silver
+salver."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Whereas," replied Dawson, "the
+usual way is for the candidate to present
+the silver salver, or, rather, the silver salve
+to the people."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the way to Stanfield in the train the
+Governor dictated his speech to his private
+secretary. He realized that he was reversing
+entirely his former course of action by entering
+now into a personal conflict. But
+the attack made upon him by Bellingham
+had been so gross, so violent, and so savagely
+uncalled for in every way, that Clinton
+felt that the people of the State should
+now be told the plain facts regarding the
+manner of man held out to them to be accepted
+as their Governor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began his speech in a vein of cool,
+keen sarcasm, taking up, point by point,
+the portions of Bellingham's career that
+had protruded into the public gaze. He
+showed how he had started as the smallest
+and lowest kind of a political hanger-on,
+and how he had then become a ward boss.
+He then charged him with the indictment
+for altering ballots. He pointed out how,
+although this was twenty-three years ago,
+Bellingham had done nothing since which
+showed that he was any more fit for election
+now than then. To be sure, the
+mark of the criminal law had appeared in
+his life but once since then. But a negative
+life, a life lacking in results, was
+no qualification for the high office of
+Governor. He took up the conviction
+for intoxication and disorderly conduct
+and the payment of the fine of ten years
+ago. With high scorn, he asked the people
+how they would be pleased to have a
+man with that record at the State House.
+Then coming down to last night's assault,
+he declared in positive language that he
+could not believe that any man in his
+normal condition would make such statements
+as Bellingham had done; that there
+was but one explanation; and that one, an
+explanation which he disliked to consider,
+but which it was his duty to state. The
+Governor then repeated the account of
+the meeting as given by the reporters, and
+he asked the people to draw their own inferences.
+In reference to the infamous
+personal charges made against him, he
+would condescend to reply but to three.
+He then showed how utterly groundless
+they were, and demanded that Bellingham
+instantly furnish proof or retract them in
+public. Having finished with a tremendous
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_328' name='Page_328' href='#Page_328'>328</a></span>
+avalanche of scorn and contempt for
+his opponent's personal character and accusations,
+the Governor turned his attention
+to the political issues. He showed how
+Bellingham had been unwilling, or else too
+cowardly, to declare his position on any of
+the great questions; how he had evaded
+them on every stump, and had refused to
+reply to the direct and pertinent questions
+put to him every night by the Governor,
+vainly seeking to find out where he stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Governor grew more and more
+rapid in his dictation as his feelings mastered
+him, and the private secretary had
+hard work in keeping up with him. The
+speech, however, was wholly finished in
+thirty-five minutes; and the secretary drew
+in his breath in relief and said, "Well,
+Governor, if there is anything left of old
+Bellingham after you've made that speech,
+they'll have to take a microscope to find
+it with."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You think I'm right in making it, don't
+you?" asked the Governor. "I hate to
+resort to this style of warfare; but I am
+not obliged to sit still in silence forever
+under such a plan of campaign as they've
+been carrying on, am I?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not at all," said the secretary; "I consider
+it your duty to the people of the State
+to show him up."
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Vivid had been the excitement for the
+last two weeks at Copley, after it was definitely
+known that Governor Clinton was
+to visit his old school on Founder's Day
+and make the speech awarding the cups.
+Founder's Day was the great day of the
+year at Copley. The athletic games
+came in the afternoon, and in the evening
+the prize speaking, and later a dance. Two
+cups were always awarded for excellence
+in the field sports: one, the Master's Cup,
+which was awarded to the House, or dormitory,
+whose inmates won the greatest
+number of points in the games; the other—vastly
+prized by the boy who won it, and
+whose name was inscribed upon it for future
+generations of boys to admire—was the
+Founder's Cup, and was given to the boy
+who singly won the most points, showing
+the greatest all-around general excellence
+in the sports.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every year there was the most vigorous
+rivalry between the boys of the Master's
+House and those of Prescott House, the
+other dormitory, for the possession of the
+Master's Cup; but this year there was still
+keener rivalry for the possession of the
+person of the Governor. When it became
+known that the Master of Prescott House
+was a class-mate in college of Governor
+Clinton, the Prescott House boys were
+certain that he would lunch with Mr. Toppan
+and with them. The Master's House
+boys were equally positive that only the
+Head Master, "Popper" Stoughton, was
+high enough to do honor to the head of the
+State. On the Governor's decision as to
+lunch, therefore, depended large transfers of
+property; and it was said that "Goggles"
+Livingston had even risked a whole week's
+allowance upon the less favored Prescott
+House side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Application to studies at the recitation
+building that morning had been very desultory.
+Although the school was not to be
+dismissed until one o'clock, the delightful
+impending event of the Governor's arrival
+proved a distraction disastrous to continued
+efforts of learning. And the subdued
+excitement was so pervasive that when
+"Stump" Taylor translated "<i><span lang="la">Gubernator
+navem navigat</span></i>," as "the Governor sails a
+boat," little Mr. Saunders, the Latin tutor,
+forgot to correct him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At about a quarter before twelve, steps
+were heard in the outer corridor, and every
+boy who had sufficient ingenuity immediately
+discovered that it was necessary for
+him to ask permission to leave the room
+and to consult the Master about something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Governor crossed the threshold of
+the old building with an interest that was
+solemn, and even almost painful, for this
+was the first time that he had been back to
+his old school for eighteen years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a few minutes' talk with the Head
+Master in his room, the Governor asked
+that the whole school might be called together.
+At the first sound of the bell a
+race began from all over the building toward
+the Master's room. And as Clinton
+stepped forward to speak, a continuous
+chorus of shrill cheers split the air.
+"Boys," he said, when a semblance of
+quiet began, "boys, I'm going to make a
+very short speech." Again the cheers
+broke out. "I see you appreciate that
+remark as well as your elders," he said.
+"You will be glad of its shortness, because
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_329' name='Page_329' href='#Page_329'>329</a></span>
+you'll have to listen to a longer one this
+afternoon. All that I've got to say is that
+I've asked Mr. Stoughton to dismiss you
+now instead of at one o'clock. He has
+thought best to submit to my request before
+I order out the State troops to enforce
+it. I hope you'll get lots of fresh air and
+sport now before we meet on the field this
+afternoon. This session is now adjourned
+<i>sine die</i>. Those of the Latin class who
+can't translate that will have to stay after
+school." Tumultuous laughter followed
+these remarks, as if the restricted air of
+the school-room made a laugh easier there
+than elsewhere, when it was allowed at all.
+Many of the boys filed out at once; but
+a large number clustered in the doorway
+and vigorously discussed the Governor in
+low tones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clinton looked round the room. How
+natural it seemed, and how little changed!
+Certainly the school must have been very
+conservative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, you've even got the same old
+desks still," he said to Mr. Stoughton.
+Then he stepped down from the platform
+and went to a very much battered and
+inked-up desk which stood in front of all
+the others, and directly under the eyes of
+the master as he sat at his desk. "Who
+sits here now?" he asked, turning to a
+group of boys beside him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's 'Kid' Nelson's," one said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where is he?" asked Clinton. Amidst
+a great scuffling and pulling, and with
+many muttered jests flung at him, a handsome
+boy, old in face but small in stature,
+with a light of deviltry in his eye, came
+shambling forward and gently grinned in
+a somewhat shame-faced fashion. The
+Governor paused a moment, smiling. "I
+rather think I know why you sit here,
+Nelson," he said. "I guess my old master
+had as much trouble with me, 'Kid,'
+as Mr. Stoughton has now with you.
+That used to be my seat most of the time
+when I was here." Saying this, the Governor
+sat down at the low desk and
+squeezed his long legs in under the bottom
+of the desk, almost prying it from its
+iron feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile "Kid" Nelson straightened
+up with a proud look, and when he went
+back to the group he was evidently being
+congratulated as a hero.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he started to leave the room, Clinton
+suddenly stopped before a full-length
+portrait of a noble-looking, pleasant-faced
+man apparently about sixty years old. It
+was his old master—"Old Winthrop," as
+the boys used to call him. He had died
+ten years ago, and Clinton had hardly seen
+him more than once or twice since he
+left the school; but the picture almost
+brought the tears to his eyes as he stood
+there and thought how much he owed to
+that man. Winthrop had been a stern, almost
+relentless, master; but he had had a
+complete and true understanding of a boy's
+feelings and motives, and his boys had respected
+him as they had respected no one
+else, then or since. They had, every one
+of them, placed the most absolute confidence
+and reliance in him. No boy ever
+thought of questioning "Old Winthrop's"
+decision, whether the decision was on a
+point of school discipline, or athletics, or
+local etiquette, or morals, or base-ball, or religion.
+He had taught his boys, and they
+had learned the lesson well, that "honor"
+and "loyalty" were the two great things
+in life; that to do what was not honorable
+was to commit the greatest crime; that
+to be disloyal to one's friends, to one's
+school, to one's trust, to one's self, was to
+render one unfit to associate with gentlemen.
+"He made me all that I am now,"
+murmured Clinton to himself, and his voice
+was a little husky. "If I've ever done
+anything well, it was due to him."
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The Governor walked out across the
+fields with the Master and Mr. Toppan in
+the direction of Prescott House; and
+when it became noised about that, after
+all, he was to lunch there, and not at the
+Master's, the Prescott boys yelled with
+joy and jeered at their crestfallen rivals
+across the way.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+On the way, Clinton stopped to look in
+at the Chapel, where the prize speaking
+was to take place that evening. He
+laughed as he saw the well-remembered
+platform with its faded red carpet, and as
+he thought of his woeful failure the last
+time he had engaged in a speaking competition
+there. How he had vainly and
+weakly struggled with "Webster's Reply
+to Hayne," and lost his memory in the
+middle of it, and had sat down ignominiously,
+and how Old Winthrop had said,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_330' name='Page_330' href='#Page_330'>330</a></span>
+"Well, Clinton, whatever else you may do
+when you grow up, you will never make a
+speaker. Your effort was the worst I ever
+heard here." That was the only point that
+Clinton could remember on which Winthrop
+had ever been wrong. Certainly the
+audiences that were nightly cheering the
+keen, eloquent speeches which the Governor
+had been making for the past four
+campaigns would vigorously question the
+fulfilment of Mr. Winthrop's prophecy.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+"Well, boys, who is going to win the
+Founder's Cup to-day?" Clinton asked as
+he sat down in the lounging-room of the
+Prescott House and a crowd of boys stood
+round the doorway, while the bolder sat
+uneasily on the edge of a table in the middle
+of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Scotty,' I mean Bruce Campbell,"
+replied one, rather grudgingly. "He's a
+Master's House fellow; but we're afraid
+he'll get it; although 'Skipper' Cunningham—he's
+one of us"—he said, pointing to
+a tall, stalwart, nice-looking boy outside in
+the hall, "will give him a hard push for it.
+You see, 'Scotty's' bound to get three firsts
+at any rate, and it's a close thing in the two-twenty-yard
+dash. 'Skipper's' good for
+a lot of seconds and one first, anyway,"
+he said, enthusiastically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, no, two!" shouted another boy.
+And thereupon so lively a discussion arose
+that the overawing presence of the Governor
+was quite forgotten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Prescott House is sure of the Master's
+Cup, anyway," said "Kid" Nelson,
+confidentially, to the Governor; "you can
+bet on that." Since his interview in the
+school-room, "Kid" had quite taken Clinton
+under his personal care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the Governor arose, and
+examined the pictures of the old athletic
+teams on the wall, and to the delight of the
+boys pointed out his own picture, a disreputable-looking
+member of one of the
+old foot-ball teams, absolutely unrecognizable
+now as the portrayal of the tall, determined,
+grave-looking man who stood
+towering up above his devoted Copley
+School mates for the time being.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he still further won their undying
+devotion when, after asking to be taken
+to a certain bedroom upstairs, he very
+knowingly walked to the window, leaned
+far out, then jerked himself back with a
+satisfied air; and then showed them how
+a boy, by hanging far out of the window
+while two other boys grasped his legs
+from within, could reach round the corner
+of the House, get hold of a portico-railing,
+and escape from the room and down to the
+earth in that fashion. It was undoubtedly
+an immoral thing for the Governor to do,
+but he could not resist the temptation, so
+delightful was it to find how the memory
+of all the most minute old misdeeds came
+back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Masters of Prescott House, indeed,
+were very sure that Governor Clinton's
+influence had been very far from good
+on their charges, when during the next
+week they found that five boys made use
+of this highly reprehensible method of
+exit from the House during evening study-hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And at dinner what could more delight
+the boys than that Clinton should decline
+to sit at the head of the table, next to the
+Master and the other teachers, but should
+sit opposite, with a boy on either side, where
+he could learn all the details of the present
+school life, its rivalries, revelries, hardships,
+and zests!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Time passed quickly, until at three
+o'clock all assembled on the field for the
+great expected sports. The day was glorious
+for them; a crisp, cold, sunny October
+day, with the air intensely clear and
+full of life. What a day and what splendid
+games, thought Clinton. And he cheered
+and shouted like a small boy, and was far
+less stately than the grave First Class
+fellows who called themselves "Sub-Freshmen"
+in a manner anticipatory of future
+dignities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Firsts, Clinton found, counted ten; seconds,
+six; thirds, three, and fourths, one;
+and the contest between the two houses
+was as close as the greatest lover of sports
+could desire. And so it happened that
+when the two-hundred-and-twenty yard
+dash came off, the Master's House had
+won 78 points and Prescott House 80
+points; and of the two favorites, "Skipper"
+Cunningham had won 44 and Bruce
+Campbell 41. It was admitted that this
+race would practically decide the day;
+for the few remaining points, it was fairly
+well settled in advance, would be equally
+divided between the various champions
+from the two houses.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_331' name='Page_331' href='#Page_331'>331</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a good deal more exciting than a
+political campaign," said the Governor to
+his friend Toppan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a half hush as the two rivals
+lined up for the famous event in the final
+heat—all the other competitors having
+fallen before them in the preliminary heats.
+Both Cunningham and Campbell were
+shapely formed youths, lithe and muscular,
+as each leaned far forward with his arms
+stretched out in the starting posture, waiting
+for the signal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pistol cracked and the two boys
+were off. By the time they had gone
+half the distance Campbell was leading by
+about eight feet. Suddenly he was seen
+to stagger and something appeared to fly
+off from his legs. He fell down upon the
+track and Cunningham darted by him
+with the race well in hand. As he went
+by, he looked to see what the matter was,
+and then suddenly stopped and turned
+around. His Prescott House followers
+held their breath in amazement, dismay,
+and confusion. Then the spectators saw
+what had happened. Campbell's running-shoe
+had become loose and the spikes had
+stuck in a clayey bit of soil, pulling the
+shoe off the foot, and causing Campbell's
+ankle to turn and throw him. Cunningham,
+panting for breath, walked up to
+Campbell as he rose slowly, and said,
+"Too bad, Bruce, old man; are you
+hurt?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," said Campbell, "I got my
+wind a little knocked out. What did you
+stop for?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, all right," said Cunningham;
+"then we'll start the race over again."
+And he walked down to the starting-line
+in a simple, unconcerned way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And how the boys were cheering him,—even
+the Prescott House boys, though
+it was a great disappointment to them!
+The failure to win then might cost them
+both cups; and if Cunningham had won
+that race, both cups would have surely
+been theirs. But they cheered just the
+same.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Governor turned to the Head
+Master. "By George!" he exclaimed,
+"that's a splendid piece of work. That
+boy is a boy to be proud of. Did you see,
+he had that race cold? It was a sure
+thing and he didn't choose to win it in
+that way."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Stoughton was looking proud and
+happy. "That's the kind of a boy he is,"
+he answered; "and I believe," he added,
+with enthusiasm, "they all are, here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Governor was about to say that
+the credit was due to Stoughton when he
+noticed that preparations were being
+made to start the race over again. Again
+the pistol sounded and the two were off,
+this time Cunningham doing a little better
+than before, but still a few feet behind
+Campbell. Toward the end he began to
+gain, and the Prescott House boys plucked
+up courage again and yelled themselves
+hoarse; but Campbell was still in the lead
+and finally won by about three feet. The
+rest of the games came out just as expected;
+and, as prophesied, the two-twenty-yard
+dash was the decisive match, giving
+the Master's cup to the Master's House
+with 98 points, as against Prescott House
+with 96 points, and the Founder's Cup
+going to Campbell, with 51 points as opposed
+to Cunningham's 50 points. And
+so the Master's House boys celebrated
+their victory, and the Prescott House boys
+celebrated their defeated hero's, "Skipper"
+Cunningham's, deeds with almost as much
+vigor as if they owned the cups. And
+really it was not much of a defeat after
+all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the games, before going back to
+the school to award the cups formally, the
+Governor went up to where Cunningham
+stood. "Cunningham," he said, holding
+out his hand, "I want to shake hands
+with you. I'm proud of my school and
+that you're in it, and I'm proud of you. I
+want to ask you what made you stop and
+offer to run the race over again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why," said the "Skipper," blushing
+and confused and very much surprised,
+"what else could I have done?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know," said Clinton, "but it was
+only one of the fortunes of war that is
+likely to happen in any contest. The race
+was yours, legally, even if Campbell did
+have an accident. Why shouldn't you
+have run it out and won the cup for your
+House and for yourself?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," replied the "Skipper," simply,
+"but that wouldn't have been honorable.
+It wouldn't have been fair and square.
+No Copley boy would do that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was all said in so matter of course a
+way that the Governor saw that the idea
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_332' name='Page_332' href='#Page_332'>332</a></span>
+that elsewhere such a thing was often
+done had never entered the boy's head.
+As he walked away, the boy's words rang
+in the Governor's ears: "Not fair and
+square." "Not honorable." "No Copley
+boy would do that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How the Governor made a splendid
+speech, and how he called them all "old
+fellows," and how he spoke of the fine traditions
+of honor which Mr. Winthrop began
+and Mr. Stoughton was continuing,
+and how he told them interesting stories
+of political fights—where they would be
+tempted to forget some of the Copley
+standard of conduct—and how he praised
+old "Skipper" Cunningham and said he
+was as good as the victor, and how he said
+that he was going to present a cup to the
+school to be fought for every year, to be
+called the "Winthrop Cup," and to be
+given to the second best athlete, and how
+he said he wanted the "Skipper's" name
+to be placed first upon it, and how he
+proposed three cheers for "Popper"
+Stoughton—all these things are part of the
+school history, and are handed down from
+one class to another as they tell of that
+memorable "Governor's Day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then all the boys escorted him
+down to the station, and gave their school,
+class, and House yells, and nearly jerked
+his arm off in their anxiety to shake hands
+with him. And at six o'clock the Governor
+and his private secretary boarded
+the limited express, which was due to arrive
+at the great manufacturing city of
+Dunster at half-past seven, just in time
+for the rally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, Mr. Porter, I'm sorry you were
+busy writing out that dictation, for you
+missed a good time. I haven't had as
+much fun for years. But now comes the
+serious part of life again. Have you got
+my speech all written out?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Porter produced it; and the Governor
+read it through, while the lines in his face
+deepened and his look became again severe
+and judicial. "I guess that is sufficiently
+strong," he said, when he had finished
+reading—"but no more so than the
+man deserves; isn't that so?" he burst out
+heartily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," said Porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You don't think that I'm taking any
+unfair advantage of him?" Clinton asked,
+in a thoughtful manner. "Of course, his
+getting drunk may have been more in the
+nature of an accident than anything else
+and doesn't necessarily mean that a man
+is unfit," he said half to himself. "It's
+a rather small issue, isn't it, to make
+against a man?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>You</i> didn't make it; he did," answered
+Porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're right," said the Governor, suddenly,
+and he began to study the speech
+carefully in order to get it clearly in his
+head. "Let me have those copies of the
+court record," he said. Porter handed
+them over. "I don't want to use these
+against a man if it wouldn't be a square
+thing to do," again argued the Governor,
+"I don't want to take unfair advantage of
+a weakness on his part."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"As I said before," replied the private
+secretary, "I consider it your duty to the
+party."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course," said the Governor, "that
+makes the difference; if only I personally
+were the gainer, I might hesitate, but the
+party welfare demands it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At half-past seven the train drew into
+the station in Dunster; and a delegation
+of the city committee met the Governor
+with a barouche and four horses and a band
+playing "Hail to the Chief," to the Governor's
+great weariness. At the city hall,
+where the rally was to be held, a large
+crowd of representative men of the party
+were assembled in one of the ante-rooms
+behind the stage. As the party leaders
+filed up, Clinton addressed a few happy
+words to each, calling most of them by
+name, for he had spoken in Dunster before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the signal was given and the chairman
+of the meeting, looking worried and
+overweighted by the responsibilities of
+the occasion, marched up on the stage
+with the Governor, the rest shambling on
+behind in a shamefaced manner and with
+a certain want of confidence, like a flock
+of sheep. While the chairman was making
+his speech of introduction, which
+occupied thirty-five minutes, and during
+which he carefully anticipated every point
+which the real speakers of the evening
+might make, the Governor took out the
+pages of his speech, together with the court
+documents, and again carefully read them
+through. At last the chairman finished
+and the Governor walked slowly forward
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_333' name='Page_333' href='#Page_333'>333</a></span>
+on the platform. The audience cheered
+wildly and the band hurriedly played
+"Hail to the Chief." The Governor took
+his manuscript and the other papers out
+of his breast-pocket, laid them on the reading-desk,
+opened them, gave a last glance
+at them, and then stood waiting for the
+uproar to subside.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-076" id="i-076"></a>
+<img src="images/i-076.png" width="600" height="515" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Clinton examined them with curiosity.—Page <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+As he stood there looking at the excited
+audience, a man's face in the row next
+to the front caught his eye, and he looked
+hard at him. It seemed familiar. He
+gazed still harder; and then saw that it
+was no one whom he knew, but that the
+face was the very image of "Skipper"
+Cunningham's. Like a flash Clinton's
+mind reverted to the scene at Copley
+School. He heard the frank, manly, ringing
+tones of Cunningham as he replied to
+the Governor's remarks.... Then
+Clinton perceived that the audience was
+waiting for him, and he began,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My friends of Dunster, not alone
+my party mates, I thank you for this warm
+welcome. I have tried my best while
+your Governor to earn it...."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those who were there said that Governor
+Clinton had never before in his life
+made so strong and so ringing a speech.
+The argument was searching, filled with
+sarcasm, and unanswerable. It stirred his
+audience from the bottom of their souls,
+for the Governor's words seemed instinct
+with truth and sincerity. As he sat patiently
+waiting for the local candidate for
+the Legislature, who was speaking on painfully
+uninteresting local issues, to finish,
+Clinton felt, himself, that his speech had
+distinctly been a success. He also felt
+that he had done right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the Governor and his private secretary,
+Mr. Porter, rode back to the hotel,
+he said, "Porter, I wish you'd take down
+a note which I want to dictate to-night to
+Bellingham. Enclose with it the manuscript
+of my speech and the copies of those
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_334' name='Page_334' href='#Page_334'>334</a></span>
+court records. Take a copy of it and send
+it to-night."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-077" id="i-077"></a>
+<img src="images/i-077.png" width="506" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">"I'm proud of my school and that you're in it, and I'm proud of you."—<a href="#Page_331">Page 331</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+On reaching the hotel the note was
+written and mailed with the enclosures
+that night; and the Bellingham episode
+in the campaign appeared to be closed
+so far as Clinton was concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The Governor reached the State House
+the next day about noon; and at three
+o'clock it was announced to him that Mr.
+Bellingham was outside and desired to see
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is a nuisance," muttered the Governor
+as Bellingham entered. The latter
+walked up to the Governor and held out
+his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Governor," he said, "I am here to
+apologize to you most sincerely for what I
+said in my speech the other night. I want
+to tell you that I will make full explanation
+of it in the newspapers and to my
+audience to-night. I cannot tell you how
+much I appreciate and how much I thank
+you for your note and for your forbearance
+in not delivering that speech which you
+sent me. For I admit you had the greatest
+provocation to return the attack."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-078" id="i-078"></a>
+<img src="images/i-078.png" width="385" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"><i>Drawn by F. C. Yohn.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">He fell down upon the track and Cunningham darted by him with the race well in hand.—<a href="#Page_331">Page 331</a>.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+"Oh, that's all right," replied Clinton.
+"It's all over with now. Sit down."
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_335' name='Page_335' href='#Page_335'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_336' name='Page_336' href='#Page_336'>336</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just at that moment Jim Blakely and
+Dawson, the <i>Standard</i> reporter, were waiting
+outside in the private secretary's office
+for a chance to see Clinton, and conversing
+excitedly with Mr. Porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What in Heaven's name made the Governor
+give up his idea of attacking Bellingham
+in his speech last night?" asked
+Blakely. "I thought we had it all decided
+on that he was to produce those convictions
+and make a rousing assault on that
+blackguardly politician," he continued;
+"and now he goes up to Dunster and
+makes a speech with not a word in it on
+Bellingham's personal record, and confines
+himself to political issues. He's a damned
+fool, that's what he is. He's throwing
+away his election."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know," said Porter, "how it
+happened. All I know is, that he had his
+speech all prepared and was studying it all
+the way to Dunster. He had it on his
+desk before him, and I was never so surprised
+in all my life as I was when I heard
+him go on without a word regarding Bellingham's
+career or in reply to his disreputable
+assaults. And you could have
+knocked me down with a feather when the
+Governor told me last night to write to
+Bellingham and enclose the legal papers.
+Wait a minute and I'll show you what he
+wrote. I know I can rely on you two not
+to make it public."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-079" id="i-079"></a>
+<img src="images/i-079.png" width="315" height="383" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">The Governor's words seemed instinct with truth and
+sincerity.—<a href="#Page_333">Page 333</a>.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+Both men nodded, and Porter took up
+some paper on his desk and read:
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+"<span class="smcap">Alfred P. Bellingham, Esq.</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear Sir:—I have read your remarks
+of last night and I enclose you the speech
+which I intended to deliver in reply to
+them. It will never be delivered, however.
+I also enclose you certain documents
+which may be of interest to you.
+Upon careful consideration of these and
+of your recent course in this campaign, I
+feel sure that you will be of the opinion,
+as a gentleman, that the way to your election
+or to mine in this State does not lie
+along such a road.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+"Yours truly,
+</p>
+<p>
+"<span class="smcap">Robert Clinton</span>."
+</p>
+</div> <!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p>
+"Well, I call the Governor, with all due
+respect, a tenderfoot," said the reporter,
+whistling loudly as he heard the letter.
+"Did the Governor give you any explanation
+of his change of heart?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing very intelligible," answered
+Porter. "He said something about
+Copley School that I couldn't make
+out."
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+"And now," said Bellingham, inside the
+Executive Chamber, to Clinton, "I want to
+explain to you the other night's speech. I
+admit that I was drunk. I admit also that
+many years ago I was indicted for fraud
+at an election, and I was convicted and
+fined for drunkenness; but, God help me,
+I believe that during the past twenty years
+I have lived down these things. I hadn't
+touched a drop of liquor for five years up
+to the other night. It was, you remember,
+a very biting cold night, and I had driven
+six miles from the railroad station and was
+thoroughly chilled through. I felt it in
+my lungs, and my host over-persuaded me
+to take some whiskey. It went straight to
+my head, and you unfortunately know the
+result. But as I said before, Governor, I
+cannot sufficiently apologize to you and
+thank you for your forbearance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Governor paused a moment. "You
+needn't thank me," he said. "You should
+thank 'Skipper' Cunningham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellingham looked confused and waited
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_337' name='Page_337' href='#Page_337'>337</a></span>
+for the Governor to explain his remark.
+The Governor, however, offered no explanation.
+Instead, he said, abruptly,
+"Bellingham, I'm going to tell you, as man
+to man, that I think you've done a very
+square thing by coming here to me to-day
+and saying what you've said. I think it
+was a mighty frank and honorable thing in
+you to do. I'm proud to be fighting you
+as my opponent."
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-080" id="i-080"></a>
+<img src="images/i-080.png" width="433" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">"Governor," he said, "I am here to apologize to you."—<a href="#Page_334">Page 334</a>.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<p>
+He paused again, and then suddenly
+asked, "You never were a Copley School
+boy, were you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," said Bellingham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You ought to have been," answered
+the Governor.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_338' name='Page_338' href='#Page_338'>338</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>
+THE
+LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
+<br />
+<span class="s08">Edited by Sidney Colvin</span>
+</h2>
+
+<h3>
+SARANAC LAKE:—WINTER, 1887-1888
+</h3>
+
+<div  class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapd.png" width="103" height="103" alt="D" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">
+During the two years and nine months of Stevenson's residence at
+Bournemouth preceding the date of his father's death, he had made
+no apparent progress toward recovery. Every period of respite had
+been quickly followed by a relapse, and all his work, brilliant and
+varied as it was, had been done under conditions which would have reduced
+almost any other man to inactivity. The close and frequently recurring
+struggles against the danger of death from hemorrhage and exhaustion, which
+he had been used, when they first occurred, to find exciting, grew in the long run merely
+irksome, and even his persistent high courage and gayety, sustained as they were by the
+devoted affection of his family and many friends, began occasionally, for the first time,
+to fail him. Accordingly when in May, 1887, the death of his father severed the
+strongest of the ties which bound him to the old country, he was very ready to listen
+to the advice of his physicians, who were unanimous in thinking his case not hopeless,
+but urged him to try some complete change of climate, surroundings, and mode of life.
+His wife's connections pointing to the West, he thought of the mountain health-resorts
+of Colorado, and of their growing reputation for the cure of lung patients. Having
+let his house at Bournemouth, he accordingly took passage on board the steamship
+Ludgate Hill, sailing for New York from London on August 17, 1887, with his whole
+party, consisting of his wife, his widowed mother, whom they had persuaded to join
+them, his young stepson, and a trusted servant, Valentine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the moment when his reputation had first reached its height in the United
+States, owing especially to the immense impression made by the <i>Strange Case of Dr.
+Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i>. He experienced consequently—for the first time—the pleasures,
+such as they were, of celebrity, and also its inconveniences; found the most hospitable
+of refuges in the house of his kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, of Newport;
+and quickly made many other friends, including the owner and the editor of this
+Magazine, from whom he immediately received and accepted very advantageous offers
+of work. Having been dissuaded from braving, for the present, the fatigue of the
+long journey to Colorado and the extreme rigors of its winter climate, he determined
+to try instead a season at the mountain station of Saranac Lake, in the Adirondack
+Mountains, New York State, which had lately been coming into reputation as a place
+of cure. There, under the care of the well-known resident physician, Dr. Trudeau,
+he spent nearly seven months, from the end of September, 1887, to the end of April,
+1888, with results on the whole favorable to his own health, though not to that of his
+wife, who at these high altitudes was never well. His work during the winter consisted
+of the twelve papers published in the course of 1888 in <span class="smcap">Scribner's Magazine</span>, including,
+perhaps, the most striking of all his essays, <i>A Chapter on Dreams</i>, <i>Pulvis et Umbra</i>,
+<i>Beggars</i>, <i>The Lantern Bearers</i>, <i>Random Memories</i>, etc.; as well as the greater part of
+the <i>Master of Ballantrae</i> and <i>The Wrong Box</i>—the last originally conceived and
+drafted by Mr. Lloyd Osbourne—and the ballad of <i>Ticonderoga</i>.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenterFull">
+<a name="i-082" id="i-082"></a>
+<img src="images/i-082.png" width="484" height="600" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatc">Lloyd Osbourne.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Mrs. Stevenson.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;R. L. Stevenson.<br />
+On the Porch of the Cottage at Saranac, in the Adirondacks, U. S. A.<br />
+<span class="s08">(From a Photograph.)</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+<p>
+The following letters are extracted from those which tell of his voyage to New York
+and his reception there at this date, and of his winter's life and work at Saranac:
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Newport, R. I., U. S. A.</span> [September, 1887].
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—So long it went
+excellent well, and I had a time I am glad
+to have had; really enjoying my life.
+There is nothing like being at sea, after
+all. And O why have I allowed myself
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_339' name='Page_339' href='#Page_339'>339</a></span>
+to rot so long on land? But on the Banks I
+caught a cold, and I have not yet got over
+it. My reception here was idiotic to the
+last degree.... It is very silly, and
+not pleasant, except where humor enters;
+and I confess the poor interviewer lads
+pleased me. They are too good for their
+trade; avoided anything I asked them to
+avoid, and were no more vulgar in their
+reports than they could help. I liked the
+lads.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O, it was lovely on our stable-ship, chock
+full of stallions. She rolled heartily, rolled
+some of the fittings out of our state-room,
+and I think a more dangerous cruise (except
+that it was summer) it would be hard
+to imagine. But we enjoyed it to the
+masthead, all but Fanny; and even she
+perhaps a little. When we got in, we had
+run out of beer, stout, cocoa, soda-water,
+water, fresh meat, and (almost) of biscuit.
+But it was a thousandfold pleasanter than
+a great big Birmingham liner like a new
+hotel; and we liked the officers, and made
+friends with the quartermasters, and I (at
+least) made a friend of a baboon (for we
+carried a cargo of apes), whose embraces
+have pretty near cost me a coat. The
+passengers improved, and were a very
+good specimen lot, with no drunkard, no
+gambling that I saw, and less grumbling
+and backbiting than one would have asked
+of poor human nature. Apes, stallions,
+cows, matches, hay, and poor men-folk
+all or almost all came successfully to
+land—Yours ever,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div> <!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_340' name='Page_340' href='#Page_340'></a></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_341' name='Page_341' href='#Page_341'>341</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a name="i-083" id="i-083"></a>
+<img src="images/i-083.png" width="600" height="385" alt="" />
+<div class="caption">
+<p class="floatl"> <i>Drawn from a photograph by Jules Guérin.</i></p>
+<p class="floatc">The Cottage at Saranac Occupied by Robert Louis Stevenson.</p>
+</div>
+</div>  <!-- /figcenter -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Newport, U. S. A.</span>, September, 1887.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear James</span>,—Here we are at
+Newport in the house of the good Fairchilds;
+and a sad burthen we have laid
+upon their shoulders. I have been in bed
+practically ever since I came. I caught
+a cold on the Banks after having had the
+finest time conceivable, and enjoyed myself
+more than I could have hoped on
+board our strange floating menagerie;
+stallions and monkeys and matches made
+our cargo; and the vast continent of these
+incongruities rolled the while like a haystack;
+and the stallions stood hypnotised
+by the motion, looking through the ports
+at our dinner-table, and winked when the
+crockery was broken; and the little monkeys
+stared at each other in their cages,
+and were thrown overboard like little bluish
+babies; and the big monkey, Jacko,
+scoured about the ship and rested willingly
+in my arms, to the ruin of my clothing;
+and the man of the stallions made a bower
+of the black tarpaulin, and sat therein
+at the feet of a raddled divinity, like a
+picture on a box of chocolates; and the
+other passengers, when they were not sick,
+looked on and laughed. Take all this
+picture, and make it roll till the bell shall
+sound unexpected notes and the fittings
+shall break loose in our stateroom, and you
+have the voyage of the <i>Ludgate Hill</i>. She
+arrived in the port of New York, without
+beer, porter, soda-water, curaçoa, fresh
+meat, or fresh water; and yet we lived,
+and we regret her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wife is a good deal run down, and
+I am no great shakes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+America is, as I remarked, a fine place
+to eat in, and a great place for kindness;
+but, Lord, what a silly thing is popularity;
+I envy the cool obscurity of Skerryvore.
+If it even paid, said Meanness! and was
+abashed at himself.—Yours most sincerely,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div> <!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">New York</span>; end of September, 1887.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear S. C.</span>,—Your delightful letter
+has just come, and finds me in a New
+York Hotel, waiting the arrival of a sculptor
+(St. Gaudens) who is making a medallion
+of yours truly and who is (to boot)
+one of the handsomest and nicest fellows
+I have often seen. I caught a cold on
+the Banks; fog is not for me; nearly died
+of interviewers and visitors, during twenty-four
+hours in New York; cut for Newport
+with Lloyd and Valentine, a journey
+like a fairy-land for the most engaging
+beauties, one little rocky and pine-shaded
+cove after another, each with a house and
+a boat at anchor, so that I left my heart
+in each and marvelled why American authors
+had been so unjust to their country;
+caught another cold on the train; arrived
+at Newport to go to bed and grow worse,
+and to stay in bed until I left again; the
+Fairchilds proving during this time kindness
+itself; Mr. Fairchild simply one of the
+most engaging men in the world, and one
+of the children, Blair, <i>aet.</i> ten, a great joy
+and amusement in his solemn adoring attitude
+to the author of <i>Treasure Island</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here I was interrupted by the arrival
+of my sculptor. I have begged him to
+make a medallion of himself and give me
+a copy. I will not take up the sentence in
+which I was wandering so long, but begin
+fresh. I was ten or twelve days at Newport;
+then came back convalescent to
+New York. Fanny and Lloyd are off to
+the Adirondacks to see if that will suit;
+and the rest of us leave Monday (this is
+Saturday) to follow them up. I hope we
+may manage to stay there all winter. I
+have a splendid appetite and have on the
+whole recovered well after a mighty sharp
+attack. I am now on a salary of £500
+a year for twelve articles in <i>Scribner's
+Magazine</i> on what I like; it is more than
+£500 but I cannot calculate more precisely
+[it was £700]. You have no idea
+how much is made of me here; I was
+offered £2000 for a weekly article—eh
+heh! how is that? but I refused that lucrative
+job. They would drive even an honest
+man into being a mere lucre-hunter in three
+weeks; to make <i>me gober</i> is I think more
+difficult; I have my own views on that
+point and stick to them. The success of
+<i>Underwoods</i> is gratifying. You see, the
+verses are sane, that is their strong point,
+and it seems is strong enough to carry
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A thousand thanks for your grand letter,
+ever yours,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake, Adirondacks,</span>
+<br />
+<span class="i2">
+New York, U. S. A.</span>
+<br />
+<span class="i4">[October, 1887.]</span>
+</p>
+
+<p class="postClear">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Bob</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cold [of Colorado] was too rigorous
+for me; I could not risk the long railway
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_342' name='Page_342' href='#Page_342'>342</a></span>
+voyage, and the season was too late
+to risk the Eastern, Cape Hatteras side of
+the steamer one; so here we stuck and
+stick. We have a wooden house on a hill
+top, overlooking a river, and a village
+about a quarter of a mile away, and very
+wooded hills; the whole scene is very
+Highland, bar want of heather and wooden
+houses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have got one good thing of my sea
+voyage; it is proved the sea agrees heartily
+with me, and my mother likes it; so if
+I get any better, or no worse, my mother
+will likely hire a yacht for a month or so in
+summer. Good Lord! what fun! Wealth
+is only useful for two things; a yacht and
+a string quartette. For these two I will
+sell my soul. Except for these I hold
+that £700 a year is as much as anybody
+can possibly want; and I have had more,
+so I know, for the extry coins were of
+no use excepting for illness, which damns
+everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was so happy on board that ship, I
+could not have believed it possible; we
+had the beastliest weather, and many discomforts;
+but the mere fact of its being a
+tramp-ship gave us many comforts; we
+could cut about with the men and officers,
+stay in the wheel-house, discuss all manner
+of things, and really be a little at sea.
+And truly there is nothing else. I had
+literally forgotten what happiness was, and
+the full mind—full of external and physical
+things, not full of cares and labours
+and rot about a fellow's behaviour. My
+heart literally sang; I truly care for nothing
+so much as for that. We took so North
+a course that we saw Newfoundland; no-one
+in the ship had ever seen it before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was beyond belief to me how she
+rolled; in seemingly smooth water, the
+bell striking, the fittings bounding out of
+our stateroom. It is worth having lived
+these last years, partly because I have
+written some better books, which is always
+pleasant, but chiefly to have had the joy
+of this voyage. I have been made a lot
+of here, and it is sometimes pleasant,
+sometimes the reverse; but I could give it
+all up, and agree that — was the author
+of my works, for a good seventy ton
+schooner and the coins to keep her on.
+And to think there are parties with yachts
+who would make the exchange! I know
+a little about fame now; it is no good
+compared to a yacht; and anyway there
+is more fame in a yacht, more genuine
+fame; to cross the Atlantic and come to
+anchor in Newport (say) with the Union
+Jack, and go ashore for your letters and
+hang about the pier, among the holiday
+yachtsmen—that's fame, that's glory—and
+nobody can take it away; they can't
+say your book is bad; you <i>have</i> crossed
+the Atlantic. I should do it South by the
+West Indies, to avoid the damned banks;
+and probably come home by steamer, and
+leave the skipper to bring the yacht home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, if all goes well, we shall maybe
+sail out of Southampton water some of
+these days and take a run to Havre, and
+try the Baltic, or somewhere.
+</p>
+
+<div class="signature_container">
+<p>
+<span class="o4">Love to you all</span>
+<br />
+<span class="o2">Ever your afft.</span>
+<br />
+<span class="smcap o4">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p class="postClear">
+Low was delightful as always. St.
+Gaudens, a very nice fellow too, has
+done a medallion of me.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+[The following refers to a review by Mr.
+Gosse of Stevenson's volume of verse
+called "Underwoods." The book had been
+published a few weeks previously, and is
+dedicated, as readers will remember, to a
+number of physicians who had attended
+him at sundry times and places.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, Oct. 8th, 1887.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Gosse</span>,—I have just read
+your article twice, with cheers of approving
+laughter; I do not believe you ever
+wrote anything so funny; Tyndall's
+'shell,' the passage on the Davos press
+and its invaluable issues, and that on V.
+Hugo and Swinburne, are exquisite; so,
+I say it more ruefully, is the touch about
+the doctors. For the rest, I am very glad
+you like my verses so well; and the qualities
+you ascribe to them seem to me well found
+and well named. I own to that kind of candour
+you attribute to me; when I am frankly
+interested, I suppose I fancy the public
+will be so too—and when I am moved, I
+am sure of it. It has been my luck hitherto
+to meet with no staggering disillusion.
+'Before' and 'After' may be two; and
+yet I believe the habit is now too thoroughly
+ingrained to be altered. About
+the doctors, you were right, that dedication
+has been the subject of some pleasantries
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_343' name='Page_343' href='#Page_343'>343</a></span>
+that made me grind, and of your
+happily touched reproof which made me
+blush. And to miscarry in a dedication
+is an abominable form of book-wreck; I
+am a good captain, I would rather lose
+the tent and save my dedication.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am at Saranac Lake in the Adirondacks,
+I suppose for the winter; it seems
+a first-rate place; we have a house in the
+eye of many winds, with a view of a piece
+of running water—Highland, all but the
+dear hue of peat—and of many hills—Highland
+also, but for the lack of heather.
+Soon the snow will close on us; we are
+here some twenty miles—twenty-seven
+they say, but this I profoundly disbelieve—in
+the woods; communication by letter
+is slow and (let me be consistent) aleatory;
+by telegram is as near as may be impossible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had some experience of American
+appreciation; I liked a little of it, but
+there is too much; a little of that would
+go a long way to spoil a man; and I
+like myself better in the woods. I am so
+damned candid and ingenuous (for a cynic),
+and so much of a 'cweatu' of impulse—aw'
+(if you remember that admirable
+Leech), that I begin to shirk any
+more taffy; I think I begin to like it too
+well. But let us trust the Gods; they
+have a rod in pickle; reverently I doff
+my trousers, and with screwed eyes await
+the <i><span lang="la">amari aliquid</span></i> of the great God Busby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thank you for the article in all ways,
+and remain yours affectionately,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>, October, 1887.
+</p>
+
+<p class="postClear">
+[To W. H. Low.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I have to trouble you with the
+following <i><span lang="fr_FR">paroles bien senties</span></i>. We are
+here at a first-rate place. 'Baker's' is the
+name of our house; but we don't address
+there, we prefer the tender care of the
+Post-Office, as more aristocratic (it is no
+use to telegraph even to the care of the
+Post-Office, who does not give a single
+damn). Baker's has a prophet's chamber,
+which the hypercritical might describe as
+a garret with a hole in the floor; in that
+garret, sir, I have to trouble you and your
+wife to come and slumber. Not now,
+however: with manly hospitality, I choke
+off any sudden impulse. Because first,
+my wife and my mother are gone (a note
+for the latter, strongly suspected to be in
+the hand of your talented wife, now sits
+silent on the mantel shelf), one to Niagara
+and t' other to Indianapolis. Because,
+second, we are not yet installed. And
+because, third, I won't have you till I have
+a buffalo robe and leggings, lest you should
+want to paint me as a plain man, which I
+am not, but a rank Saranacker and wild
+man of the woods.
+</p>
+
+<div class="signature_container">
+<p>
+<span class="o2">Yours,</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p class="postClear">
+I am well.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+[The Wondrous Tale referred to in the
+following is Stevenson's <i>Black Arrow</i>,
+which had been through Mr. Archer's
+hands in proof.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, October, 1887.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Dear Archer</span>,—Many thanks for the
+Wondrous Tale. It is scarcely a work of
+genius, as I believe you felt. Thanks also
+for your pencillings; though I defend
+'shrew,' or at least many of the shrews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We are here (I suppose) for the winter
+in the Adirondacks, a hill and forest country
+on the Canadian border of New York
+State, very unsettled and primitive and
+cold, and healthful, or we are the more
+bitterly deceived. I believe it will do
+well for me; but must not boast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wife is away to Indiana to see her
+family; my mother, Lloyd, and I remain
+here in the cold, which has been exceeding
+sharp, and the hill air, which is inimitably
+fine. We all eat bravely, and sleep well,
+and make great fires, and get along like
+one o'clock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am now a salaried party; I am a <i>bourgeois</i>
+now; I am to write a monthly paper
+for Scribner's, at a scale of payment which
+makes my teeth ache for shame and diffidence.
+The editor is, I believe, to apply to
+you; for we were talking over likely men,
+and when I instanced you, he said he had
+had his eye upon you from the first. It
+is worth while, perhaps, to get in tow with
+the Scribners; they are such thorough gentle-folk
+in all ways that it is always a
+pleasure to deal with them. I am like to be
+a millionaire if this goes on, and be publicly
+hanged at the social revolution; well,
+I would prefer that to dying in my bed;
+and it would be a godsend to my biographer,
+if ever I have one. What are
+you about? I hope you are all well and
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_344' name='Page_344' href='#Page_344'>344</a></span>
+in good case and spirits, as I am now, after
+a most nefast experience of despondency
+before I left; but indeed I was quite run
+down. Remember me to Mrs. Archer,
+and give my respects to Tom—Yours very
+truly,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p>
+[The lady to whom the following letter
+is addressed, as well as a good many others
+to come, had been a close friend of the
+Stevenson family at Bournemouth, and on
+their departure had been trusted to keep
+an eye on their interests in connection
+with their house (which had been let) and
+other matters, and to report thereon from
+time to time. In their correspondence
+Stevenson is generally referred to as the
+Squire and the lady as the Gamekeeper.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, December, 1887.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boodle</span>,—I am so
+much afraid, our gamekeeper may weary
+of unacknowledged reports! Hence, in
+the midst of a perfect horror of detestable
+weathers of a quite incongruous strain,
+and with less desire for correspondence
+than—well, than—well, with no desire for
+correspondence, behold me dash into the
+breach. Do keep up your letters. They
+are most delightful to this exiled backwoods
+family; and in your next, we shall
+hope somehow or other to hear better news
+of you and yours—that, in the first place—and
+to hear more news of our beasts and
+birds and kindly fruits of the earth and
+those human tenants who are (truly) too
+much with us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am very well; better than for years:
+that is for good. But then my wife is no
+great shakes; the place does not suit her—it
+is my private opinion that no place
+does—and she is now away down to New
+York for a change, which (as Lloyd is in
+Boston) leaves my mother and me and
+Valentine alone in our wind-beleaguered
+hilltop hatbox of a house. You should
+hear the cows butt against the walls in
+the early morning while they feed; you
+should also see our back log when the
+thermometer goes (as it does go) away—away
+below zero, till it can be seen no
+more by the eye of man—not the thermometer,
+which is still perfectly visible,
+but the mercury, which curls up into the
+bulb like a hibernating bear; you should
+also see the lad who "does chores" for us,
+with his red stockings and his thirteen year
+old face, and his highly manly tramp into
+the room; and his two alternative answers
+to all questions about the weather; either
+"Cold," or with a really lyrical movement
+of the voice, "<i>Lovely</i>—raining!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Will you take this miserable scrap for
+what it is worth? Will you also understand
+that I am the man to blame, and
+my wife is really almost too much out of
+health to write—or at least doesn't write?—And
+believe me, with kind remembrances
+to Mrs. Boodle and your sister,
+very sincerely yours,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, Winter, 1887-8.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Henry James</span>,—It may
+please you to know how our family has
+been employed. In the silence of the
+snow the afternoon lamp has lighted an
+eager fireside group; my mother reading,
+Fanny, Lloyd, and I devoted listeners;
+and the work was really one of the best
+works I ever heard; and its author is to
+be praised and honoured; and what do
+you suppose is the name of it? and have
+you ever read it yourself? and (I am
+bound I will get to the bottom of the page
+before I blow the gaff, if I have to fight
+it out on this line all summer; for if you
+have not to turn a leaf, there can be no
+suspense, the conspectory eye being swift
+to pick out proper names; and without
+suspense, there can be little pleasure in
+this world, to my mind at least), and, in
+short, the name of it is <i>Roderick Hudson</i>,
+if you please. My dear James, it is very
+spirited, and very sound, and very noble
+too. Hudson, Mrs. Hudson, Rowland,
+O, all first-rate: Rowland a very fine fellow;
+Hudson as good as he can stick
+(did you know Hudson? I suspect you
+did), Mrs. H. his real born mother, a
+thing rarely managed in fiction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We are all keeping pretty fit and pretty
+hearty; but this letter is not from me to
+you, it is from a reader of R. H. to the author
+of the same, and it says nothing, and
+has nothing to say but thank you.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We are going to re-read <i>Casamassima</i>
+as a proper pendant. Sir, I think these
+two are your best, and care not who knows
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+May I beg you, the next time <i>Roderick</i>
+is printed off, to go over the sheets of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_345' name='Page_345' href='#Page_345'>345</a></span>
+last few chapters, and strike out 'immense'
+and 'tremendous'? You have simply
+dropped them there like your pocket-handkerchief;
+all you have to do is to
+pick them up and pouch them, and your
+room—what do I say?—your cathedral!
+will be swept and garnished.—I am, dear
+sir, your delighted reader,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>P.S.</i>—Perhaps it is a pang of causeless
+honesty, perhaps I hope it will set a value
+on my praise of <i>Roderick</i>, perhaps it's a
+burst of the diabolic, but I must break
+out with the news that I can't bear the
+<i>Portrait of a Lady</i>. I read it all, and I
+wept too; but I can't stand your having
+written it; and I beg you will write no
+more of the like. <i>Infra</i>, sir; Below you:
+I can't help it—it may be your favourite
+work, but in my eyes it's <span class="smcap">BELOW YOU</span> to
+write and me to read. I thought <i>Roderick</i>
+was going to be another such at the
+beginning; and I cannot describe my
+pleasure as I found it taking bones and
+blood, and looking out at me with a
+moved and human countenance, whose
+lineaments are written in my memory until
+my last of days.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wife begs your forgiveness; I believe
+for her silence.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<p>
+[The following narrates the beginning
+of the author's labours on the <i>Master of
+Ballantrae</i>. An unfinished paper written
+some years later in Samoa, and intended
+for <span class="smcap">Scribner's Magazine</span>, tells how the
+story first took in his mind. <i>See</i> Ed. ed.
+Miscellanies, vol. iv., p. 297.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>, December 24, 1887-8.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Thank you for
+your explanations. I have done no more
+Virgil since I finished the seventh book,
+for I have first been eaten up with Taine,
+and next have fallen head over heels into
+a new tale, <i>The Master of Ballantrae</i>. No
+thought have I now apart from it, and I
+have got along up to page ninety-two of
+the draught with great interest. It is to
+me a most seizing tale: there are some
+fantastic elements, the most is a dead
+genuine human problem—human tragedy,
+I should say rather. It will be about as
+long, I imagine, as <i>Kidnapped</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+</p>
+
+<ul class="idx">
+<li>(1) My old Lord Durrisdeer.
+</li>
+
+<li>
+(2) The Master of Ballantrae, <i>and</i>
+</li>
+
+<li>
+(3) Henry Durie, <i>his sons</i>.
+</li>
+
+<li>
+(4) Clementina, <i>engaged to the first,
+married to the second</i>.
+</li>
+
+<li>
+(5) Ephraim Mackellar, <i>land steward
+at Durrisdeer and narrator of the
+most of the book</i>.
+</li>
+
+<li>
+(6) Francis Burke, Chevalier de St.
+Louis, <i>one of the Prince Charlie's
+Irishmen and narrator of the rest</i>.
+</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>
+Besides these many instant figures, most
+of them dumb or nearly so: Jessie Brown,
+the whore, Captain Crail, Captain McCombie,
+our old friend Alan Breck, our
+old friend Riach (both only for an instant),
+Teach the pirate (vulgarly Blackbeard),
+John Paul and Macconochie, servants at
+Durrisdeer. The date is from 1745 to
+'65 (about). The scene near Kirkcudbright,
+in the States, and for a little moment
+in the French East Indies. I have
+done most of the big work, the quarrel,
+duel between the brothers, and announcement
+of the death to Clementina and my
+Lord—Clementina, Henry, and Mackellar
+(nicknamed Squaretoes) are really very
+fine fellows; the Master is all I know of
+the devil; I have known hints of him, in
+the world, but always cowards: he is as
+bold as a lion, but with the same deadly,
+causeless duplicity I have watched with
+so much surprise in my two cowards. 'Tis
+true, I saw a hint of the same nature in
+another man who was not a coward;
+but he had other things to attend to; the
+Master has nothing else but his devilry.
+Here come my visitors ... and
+have now gone, or the first relay of them;
+and I hope no more may come. For
+mark you, sir, this is our 'day'—Saturday,
+as ever was; and here we sit, my mother
+and I, before a large wood fire and await
+the enemy with the most steadfast courage;
+and without snow and greyness:
+and the woman Fanny in New York, for
+her health which is far from good; and
+the lad Lloyd at the inn in the village because
+he has a cold; and the handmaid
+Valentine abroad in a sleigh upon her messages;
+and to-morrow Christmas and no
+mistake. Such is human life: <i><span lang="fr_FR">la carrière
+humaine</span></i>. I will enclose, if I remember,
+the required autograph.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_346' name='Page_346' href='#Page_346'>346</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I will do better, put it on the back of
+this page. Love to all, and mostly, my
+very dear Colvin, to yourself. For whatever
+I say or do, or don't say or do, you
+may be very sure I am,—Yours always
+affectionately,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>, February, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Raw Haste Half Sister to Delay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Burlingame</span>,—1. Enclosed
+please find another paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+2. There will be another severe engagement
+over the <i>Master</i>; a large part
+will have to be rehandled. I am very
+sorry; but you see what comes of my
+trying to hurry. As soon as I have got a
+bit ahead again with the papers I shall
+tackle this job. I am better; my wife
+also.—Yours sincerely,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>P.S.</i>, and a <i>P.S.</i> with a vengeance.—Pray
+send me the tale of the proof if already
+printed—if not, then the tale of the
+MS.—and—throw the type down. I will
+of course bear the expense. I am going
+to recast the whole thing in the third person;
+this version is one large error. Keep
+standing, however, the Chevalier's narration,
+as I <i>may</i> leave that in the first
+person.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="letter_head"><i>Monday.</i></p>
+
+<p>To yesterday's two barrels I add two
+requests. 1st. Will you let the cost of
+the printing stand over against the <i>Master</i>,
+as otherwise I may be involved in 'pecuniary
+embarrassments'? And that, sir,
+is no joke. 2nd. Will you send me (from
+the library) some of the works of my dear
+old G. P. R. James. With the following
+specially I desire to make or to renew acquaintance:
+<i>The Songster</i>, <i>The Gypsy</i>,
+<i>The Convict</i>, <i>The Stepmother</i>, <i>The Gentleman
+of the Old School</i>, <i>The Robber</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span lang="fr_FR">Excusez du peu.</span></p>
+
+<p>This sudden return to an ancient favorite
+hangs upon an accident. The
+'Franklin County Library' contains two
+works of his, <i>The Cavalier</i> and <i>Morley
+Einstein</i>. I read the first with indescribable
+amusement—it was worse than I
+feared, and yet somehow engaging; the
+second (to my surprise) was better than I
+dared to hope: a good, honest, dull, interesting
+tale, with a genuine old-fashioned
+talent in the invention when not strained;
+and a genuine old-fashioned feeling for
+the English language. This experience
+awoke appetite, and you see I have taken
+steps to stay it.</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>, February, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Burlingame</span>,—1. Of course
+then don't use it. Dear Man, I write
+these to please you, not myself, and you
+know a main sight better than I do what
+is good. In that case, however, I enclose
+another paper, and return the corrected
+proof of <i>Pulvis et Umbra</i>, so that we may
+be afloat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+2. I want to say a word as to the
+<i>Master</i>. (The <i>Master of Ballantrae</i> shall
+be the name by all means.) If you like
+and want it, I leave it to you to make an
+offer. You may remember I thought the
+offer you made when I was still in England
+too small; by which I did not at all
+mean, I thought it less than it was worth,
+but too little to tempt me to undergo the
+disagreeables of serial publication. This
+tale (if you want it) you are to have; for
+it is the least I can do for you; and you
+are to observe that the sum you pay me
+for my articles going far to meet my
+wants, I am quite open to be satisfied
+with less than formerly. I tell you I do
+dislike this battle of the dollars. I feel
+sure you all pay too much here in America;
+and I beg you not to spoil me any
+more. For I am getting spoiled; I do
+not want wealth, and I feel these big
+sums demoralize me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wife came here pretty ill, she had a
+dreadful bad night; to-day she is better.
+But now Valentine is ill; and Lloyd and
+I have got breakfast, and my hand somewhat
+shakes after washing-dishes.—Yours
+very sincerely,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>P.S.</i>—Please order me the <i>Evening
+Post</i> for two months. My subscription is
+run out. The <i>Mutiny</i> and <i>Edwardes</i> to
+hand.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>, March, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Fanny has been
+very unwell. She is not long home, has
+been ill again since her return, but is now
+better again to a degree. You must not
+blame her for not writing, as she is not allowed
+to write at all, not even a letter. To
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_347' name='Page_347' href='#Page_347'>347</a></span>
+add to our misfortunes, Valentine is quite
+ill and in bed. Lloyd and I get breakfast;
+I have now, 10.15, just got the dishes
+washed and the kitchen all clear, and sit
+down to give you as much news as I have
+spirit for, after such an engagement. Glass
+is a thing that really breaks my spirit: I
+do not like to fail, and with glass I cannot
+reach the work of my high calling—the
+artist's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am, as you may gather from this,
+wonderfully better: this harsh, grey, glum,
+doleful climate has done me good. You
+cannot fancy how sad a climate it is.
+When the thermometer stays all day below
+10°, it is really cold; and when the wind
+blows, O commend me to the result.
+Pleasure in life is all delete; there is no red
+spot left, fires do not radiate, you burn
+your hands all the time on what seem to
+be cold stones. It is odd, zero is like
+summer heat to us now; and we like,
+when the thermometer outside is really low,
+a room at about 48°: 60° we find oppressive.
+Yet the natives keep their holes at
+90° or even 100°.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was interrupted days ago by household
+labors. Since then I have had and
+(I tremble to write it, but it does seem as
+if I had) beaten off an influenza. The
+cold is exquisite. Valentine still in bed.
+The proofs of the first part of the <i>Master
+of Ballantrae</i> begin to come in; soon you
+shall have it in the pamphlet form; and
+I hope you will like it. The second part
+will not be near so good; but there—we
+can but do as it'll do with us. I have
+every reason to believe this winter has
+done me real good, so far as it has gone;
+and if I carry out my scheme for next
+winter, and succeeding years, I should
+end by being a tower of strength. I want
+you to save a good holiday for next winter;
+I hope we shall be able to help you
+to some larks. Is there any Greek isle
+you would like to explore? or any creek
+in Asia Minor?—Yours ever affectionately,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, March, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear, delightful James</span>,—To
+quote your heading to my wife, I think no
+man writes so elegant a letter, I am sure
+none so kind, unless it be Colvin, and there
+is more of the stern parent about him. I
+was vexed at your account of my admired
+Meredith; I wish I could go and see him,
+as it is I will try to write. I read with indescribable
+admiration your <i>Emerson</i>. I
+begin to long for the day when these portraits
+of yours shall be collected; do put
+me in. But Emerson is a higher flight.
+Have you a <i>Tourgueneff</i>? You have told
+me many interesting things of him, and I
+seem to see them written, and forming a
+graceful and <i>bildend</i> sketch. My novel
+is a tragedy, four parts out of six or seven
+are written, and gone to Burlingame. Five
+parts of it are sound, human tragedy; the
+last one or two, I regret to say, are not
+so soundly designed; I almost hesitate to
+write them; they are very picturesque, but
+they are fantastic; they shame, perhaps
+degrade, the beginning. I wish I knew;
+that was how the tale came to me however.
+I got the situation; it was an old taste of
+mine: The older brother goes out in the
+'45, the younger stays; the younger, of
+course, gets title and estate and marries the
+bride designate of the elder—a family
+match, but he (the younger) had always
+loved her, and she had really loved the elder.
+Do you see the situation? Then the
+devil and Saranac suggested this <i>dénouement</i>,
+and I joined the two ends in a day
+or two of constant feverish thought, and
+began to write. And now—I wonder if
+I have not gone too far with the fantastic.
+The elder brother is an <i>Incubus</i>; supposed
+to be killed at Culloden, he turns up again
+and bleeds the family of money; on that
+stopping he comes and lives with them,
+whence flows the real tragedy, the nocturnal
+duel of the brothers (very naturally,
+and indeed, I think, inevitably arising),
+and second supposed death of the elder.
+Husband and wife now really make up,
+and then the cloven hoof appears. For
+the third supposed death and the manner
+of the third reappearance is steep; steep,
+sir. It is even very steep, and I fear it
+shames the honest stuff so far; but then
+it is highly pictorial, and it leads up to
+death of the elder brother at the hands
+of the younger in a perfectly cold-blooded
+murder, of which I wish (and mean) the
+reader to approve. You see how daring
+is the design. There are really but six
+characters, and one of these episodic, and
+yet it covers eighteen years, and will be, I
+imagine, the longest of my works.—Yours
+ever,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_348' name='Page_348' href='#Page_348'>348</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+<i>Read Gosse's Raleigh.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First rate,—Yours ever,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div><!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+<i>To S. R. Crockett</i>
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, Spring, 1888.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Dear Minister of the Free Kirk
+at Penicuik</span>,—For O, man, I cannae
+read your name!—That I have been so
+long in answering your delightful letter
+sits on my conscience badly. The fact
+is I let my correspondence accumulate
+until I am going to leave a place; and
+then I pitch in, overhaul the pile, and my
+cries of penitence might be heard a mile
+about. Yesterday I despatched thirty-five
+belated letters; conceive the state of my
+conscience, above all the Sins of Omission
+(see boyhood's guide, the Shorter Catechism)
+are in my view the only serious
+ones; I call it my view, but it cannot
+have escaped you that it was also Christ's.
+However, all that is not to the purpose,
+which is to thank you for the sincere
+pleasure afforded by your charming letter.
+I get a good few such; how few
+that please me at all, you would be surprised
+to learn—or have a singularly just
+idea of the dulness of our race; how few
+that please me as yours did, I can tell
+you in one word—<i>None</i>. I am no great
+kirkgoer, for many reasons—and the sermon's
+one of them, and the first prayer
+another, but the chief and effectual reason
+is the stuffiness. I am no great kirkgoer,
+says I, but when I read yon letter of yours,
+I thought I would like to sit under ye.
+And then I saw ye were to send me a bit
+buik, and says I, I'll wait for the bit buik,
+and then I'll mebbe can read the man's
+name, and anyway I'll can kill twa birds
+wi' ae stane. And, man! the buik was
+ne'er heard tell o'!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That fact is an adminicle of excuse for
+my delay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, dear minister of the illegible
+name, thanks to you, and greeting to your
+wife, and may you have good guidance
+in your difficult labors, and a blessing on
+your life.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson.</span>
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+(No just so young sae young's he was,
+though—I'm awfae near forty, man).
+</p>
+
+<p class="post">
+Address c/o <span class="smcap">Charles Scribner's Sons,</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;743 Broadway, New York</span>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Don't put "N.B." in your paper, put
+<i>Scotland</i>, and be done with it. Alas, that
+I should be thus stabbed in the home of
+my friends! The name of my native land
+is not <i>North Britain</i>, whatever may be
+the name of yours.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. L. S.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Saranac</span>], April 9th!! 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I have been long
+without writing to you, but am not to
+blame. I had some little annoyances
+quite for a private eye, but they ran me so
+hard that I could not write without lugging
+them in, which (for several reasons)
+I did not choose to do. Fanny is off to
+San Francisco, and next week I myself flit
+to New York: address Scribners. Where
+we shall go I know not, nor (I was going
+to say) care; so bald and bad is my frame of
+mind. Do you know our—ahem!—fellow
+clubman, Colonel Majendie? I had such an
+interesting letter from him. Did you see my
+sermon? [<i>Pulvis et Umbra</i>] It has evoked
+the worst feeling: I fear people don't care
+for the truth, or else I don't tell it. Suffer
+me to wander without purpose. I have
+sent off twenty letters to-day, and begun
+and stuck over a twenty-first, and taken
+a copy of one which was on business, and
+corrected several galleys of proof, and
+sorted about a bushel of old letters; so if
+any one has a right to be romantically
+stupid it is I—and I am. Really deeply
+stupid, and at that stage when in old days
+I used to pour out words without any
+meaning whatever and with my mind taking
+no part in the performance. I suspect
+that is now the case. I am reading
+with extraordinary pleasure the life of Lord
+Lawrence: Lloyd and I have a mutiny
+novel—
+</p>
+
+<p>
+(Next morning, after twelve other letters)—mutiny
+novel on hand—<i>The White
+Nigger</i>—a tremendous work—so we are
+all at Indian books. The idea of the
+novel is Lloyd's: I call it a novel. 'Tis
+a tragic romance, of the most tragic sort:
+I believe the end will be almost too much
+for human endurance—when the White
+Nigger was thrown to the ground with one
+of his own (Sepoy) soldier's knees upon
+his chest, and the cries begin in the Beebeeghar.
+Oh, truly, you know it is a
+howler! The whole last part is—well the
+difficulty is that, short of resuscitating
+Shakespeare, I don't know who is to write it.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_349' name='Page_349' href='#Page_349'>349</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I still keep wonderful. I am a great
+performer before the Lord on a penny
+whistle. Dear sir, sincerely yours,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Andrew Jackson</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+[<span class="smcap">Saranac Lake</span>, April, 1888.]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Gamekeeper</span>,—Your p. c.
+(proving you a good student of Micawber)
+has just arrived, and it paves the way to
+something I am anxious to say. I wrote
+a paper the other day—Pulvis et Umbra;—I
+wrote it with great feeling and conviction;
+to me it seemed bracing and
+healthful; it is in such a world (so seen by
+me), that I am very glad to fight out my
+battle, and see some fine sunsets, and hear
+some excellent jests between whiles round
+the camp fire. But I find that to some
+people this vision of mine is a nightmare,
+and extinguishes all ground of faith in
+God or pleasure in man. Truth I think
+not so much of; for I do not know it.
+And I could wish in my heart that I had
+not published this paper, if it troubles
+folks too much: all have not the same
+digestion, nor the same sight of things.
+And it came over to me with special pain
+that perhaps this article (which I was at
+the pains to send to her) might give dismalness
+to my <i>Gamekeeper at Home</i>. Well,
+I cannot take back what I have said;
+but yet I may add this. If my view be
+everything but the nonsense that it may
+be—to me it seems self-evident and blinding
+truth—surely of all things it makes this
+world holier. There is nothing in it but
+the moral side—but the great battle and
+the breathing-times with their refreshments.
+I see no more and no less. And
+if you look again, it is not ugly, and it is
+filled with promise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pray excuse a desponding author for
+this apology. My wife is away off to the
+uttermost parts of the States, all by herself.
+I shall be off, I hope, in a week;
+but where? Ah! that I know not. I
+keep wonderful, and my wife a little better,
+and the lad flourishing. We now perform
+duets on two D tin whistles; it is
+no joke to make the bass; I think I must
+really send you one, which I wish you
+would correct....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I may be said to live for these instrumental
+labours now; but I have always
+some childishness on hand.—I am, dear
+Gamekeeper, your indulgent, but intemperate
+Squire,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+[On the 16th of April Stevenson and
+his party left Saranac. After spending a
+fortnight in New York, where, as always
+in cities, his health quickly flagged again,
+he went for the month of May into seaside
+quarters at Union House, Manasquan, on
+the New Jersey coast, for the sake of
+fresh air and boating. Here he enjoyed
+the society of some of his New York
+friends, including Mr. St. Gaudens and
+Mr. W. H. Low, and was initiated in the
+congenial craft of cat-boat sailing. In
+the meantime Mrs. Stevenson had gone
+to San Francisco, to see whether a sailing
+yacht was to be found available for a few
+months' cruise in the Pacific. The <i>Casco</i>,
+Captain Otis, was found accordingly;
+Stevenson signified by telegraph his assent
+to the arrangement; determined to
+risk in the adventure the sum of £2,000,
+of which his father's death had put him in
+possession, hoping to recoup himself by
+a book of Letters recounting his experiences;
+and on the 2d of June started with
+his mother and stepson for San Francisco,
+and thence for that island cruise from
+which he was never to return.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Union House, Manasquan, N. J.</span>, but address
+to Scribner's.
+<br />
+May 11, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">My dear Charles</span>,—I have found a
+yacht, and we are going the full pitch for
+seven months. If I cannot get my health
+back (more or less), 'tis madness; but, of
+course, there is the hope, and I will play
+big.... If this business fails to set
+me up, well, £2,000 is gone, and I know
+I can't get better. We sail from San Francisco,
+June 15th, for the South Seas in the
+yacht <i>Casco</i>.—With a million thanks for
+all your dear friendliness, ever yours affectionately,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+[The following is addressed from Manasquan
+to a boy, the son of the writer's
+friend, the sculptor St. Gaudens; for the
+rest, it explains itself.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Manasquan, New Jersey</span>,
+<br />
+27th May, 1888.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">Dear Homer St. Gaudens</span>,—Your
+father has brought you this day to see me,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_350' name='Page_350' href='#Page_350'>350</a></span>
+and he tells me it is his hope he may remember
+the occasion. I am going to do
+what I can to carry out his wish; and it
+may amuse you, years after, to see this
+little scrap of paper and to read what I
+write. I must begin by testifying that you
+yourself took no interest whatever in the
+introduction, and in the most proper spirit
+displayed a single-minded ambition to get
+back to play, and this I thought an excellent
+and admirable point in your character.
+You were also (I use the past tense, with
+a view to the time when you shall read,
+rather than to that when I am writing) a
+very pretty boy, and (to my European
+views) startlingly self-possessed. My time
+of observation was so limited that you
+must pardon me if I can say no more:
+what else I marked, what restlessness of
+foot and hand, what graceful clumsiness,
+what experimental designs upon the furniture,
+was but the common inheritance of
+human youth. But you may perhaps like
+to know that the lean flushed man in bed,
+who interested you so little, was in a state
+of mind extremely mingled and unpleasant:
+harassed with work which he thought
+he was not doing well, troubled with difficulties
+to which you will in time succeed,
+and yet looking forward to no less a matter
+than a voyage to the South Seas and
+the visitation of savage and of desert islands.—Your
+father's friend,
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>
+THE VEERY-THRUSH
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By J. Russell Taylor</span>
+</h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Blow softly, thrush, upon the hush</p>
+<p>That makes the least leaf loud,</p>
+<p>Blow, wild of heart, remote, apart</p>
+<p>From all the vocal crowd,</p>
+<p>Apart, remote, a spirit note</p>
+<p>That dances meltingly afloat,</p>
+<p>Blow faintly, thrush!</p>
+<p>And build the green-hill waterfall</p>
+<p>I hated for its beauty, and all</p>
+<p>The unloved vernal rapture and flush,</p>
+<p>The old forgotten lonely time,</p>
+<p>Delicate thrush!</p>
+<p>Spring's at the prime, the world's in chime,</p>
+<p>And my love is listening nearly,</p>
+<p>O lightly blow the ancient woe,</p>
+<p>Flute of the wood, blow clearly!</p>
+<p>Blow, she is here, and the world all dear,</p>
+<p>Melting flute of the hush,</p>
+<p>Old sorrow estranged, enriched, sea-changed,</p>
+<p>Breathe it, veery-thrush!</p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_351' name='Page_351' href='#Page_351'>351</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+THE SHIP OF STARS
+<br />
+<span class="s08">By A. T. Quiller-Couch</span><br />
+<span class="s08">(Q.)</span>
+</h2>
+
+<h3>
+XXI
+<br />
+HONORIA'S LETTERS
+</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+1
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Carwithiel</span>, October 25, 18—.
+</p>
+
+<div  class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapm.png" width="105" height="106" alt="M" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Taffy</span>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Your letter was full of
+news, and I read it over
+twice—once to myself, and
+again after dinner to
+George and Sir Harry. We
+pictured you dining in the college hall.
+Thanks to your description, it was not
+very difficult: the long tables, the silver
+tankards, the dark panels and the dark
+pictures above, and the dons on the dais,
+aloof and very sedate. It reminded me
+of Ivanhoe—I don't know why; and no
+doubt if ever I see Magdalen, it will not
+be like my fancy in the least. But that's
+how I see it; and you at a table near the
+bottom of the hall, like the youthful squire
+in the story-books—the one, you know,
+who sits at the feast below the salt until
+he is recognized and forced to step up and
+take his seat with honor at the high table.
+I began to explain all this to George, but
+found that he had dropped asleep in his
+chair. He was tired out after a long day
+with the pheasants.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shall stay here for a week or two
+yet, perhaps. You know how I hate Tredinnis.
+On my way over, I called at the
+Parsonage and saw your mother. She
+was writing that very day, she said, and
+promised to send my remembrances, which
+I hope duly reached you. The Vicar was
+away at the church, of course. There is
+great talk of the Bishop coming in February,
+when all will be ready. George
+sends his love; I saw him for a few minutes
+at breakfast this morning, before he
+started for another day with the pheasants.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+Your friend,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Honoria</span>.
+</p>
+</div> <!-- /blockquot -->
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+2
+</p>
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Carwithiel</span>, November 19, 18—.
+</p>
+
+<p class="post">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Taffy</span>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still here, you see! I am slipping this
+into a parcel containing a fire-screen which
+I have worked with my very own hands;
+and I trust you will be able to recognize
+the shield upon it and the Magdalen lilies.
+I send it, first, as a birthday present; and
+I chose a shield—well, I daresay that
+going in for a demy-ship is a matter-of-fact
+affair to you, who have grown so exceedingly
+matter-of-fact; but to me it seems a
+tremendous adventure; and so I chose a
+shield—for I suppose the dons would frown
+if you wore a cockade in your college cap.
+I return to Tredinnis to-morrow; so your
+news, whatever it is, must be addressed to
+me there. But it is safe to be good news.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+Your friend,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Honoria</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+3
+</p>
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Tredinnis</span>, November 27, 18—.
+</p>
+
+<p class="postClear">
+<span class="smcap">Most Honored Scholar</span>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behold me, an hour ago, a great lady,
+seated in lonely grandeur at the head of
+my own ancestral table. This is the first
+time I have used the dining-room; usually
+I take all my meals in the morning-room, at
+a small table beside the fire. But to-night
+I had the great table spread, and the plate
+set out, and wore my best gown, and solemnly
+took my grandfather's chair and
+glowered at the ghost of a small girl shivering
+at the far end of the long white
+cloth. When I had enough of this (which
+was pretty soon) I ordered up some champagne
+and drank the health of Theophilus
+John Raymond, Demy of Magdalen College,
+Oxford. I graciously poured out a
+second glass for the small ghost at the other
+end of the table; and it gave her the courage
+to confess that she, too, in a timid
+way, had taken an interest in you for years,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_352' name='Page_352' href='#Page_352'>352</a></span>
+and hoped you were going to be a great
+man. Having thus discovered a bond between
+us, we grew very friendly; and we
+talked a great deal about you afterward,
+in the drawing-room, where I lost her for
+a few minutes and found her hiding in the
+great mirror over the fire-place—a habit
+of hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is time for me to practise ceremony,
+for it seems that George and I are to be
+married some time in the spring. For my
+part, I think my lord would be content to
+wait longer; for so long as he is happy
+and sees others cheerful, he is not one to
+hurry or worry. But Sir Harry is the impatient
+one, and has begun to talk of his
+decease. He doesn't believe in it a bit,
+and at times when he composes his features
+and attempts to be lugubrious I have
+to take up a book and hide my smiles.
+But he is clever enough to see that it
+bothers George.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I saw both your father and mother this
+morning. Mr. Raymond has been kept
+to the house by a chill; nothing serious;
+but he is fretting to be out again and at
+work in that draughty church. He will
+accept no help; and the mistress of Tredinnis
+has no right to press it on him. I
+shall never understand men and how they
+fight. I supposed that the war lay between
+him and my grandfather. But it seems he
+was fighting an idea all the while; for here
+is my grandfather beaten and dead and
+gone; and still the Vicar will give no
+quarter. If you had not assured me that
+your demy-ship means eighty pounds a
+year, I could believe that men fight for
+shadows only. Your mother and grandmother
+are both well....
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+It was a raw December afternoon—within
+a week of the end of term—and
+Taffy had returned from skating in Christ
+Church meadow, when he found a telegram
+lying on his table. There was just
+time to see the Dean, to pack, and to
+snatch a meal in hall, before rattling off
+to his train. At Didcot he had the best
+part of an hour to wait for the night-mail
+westward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Your father dangerously ill. Come at
+once.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no signature. Yet Taffy
+knew who had ridden to the office with
+that telegram. The flying darkness held
+visions of her, and the express throbbed
+westward to the beat of Aide-de-camp's
+gallop. Nor was he surprised at all to
+find her on the platform at Truro station.
+The Tredinnis phaeton was waiting outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed to her but a boy after all,
+as he stepped out of the train in the chill
+dawn; a wan-faced boy and sorely in need
+of comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must be brave," said she, gathering
+up the reins as he climbed to the seat
+beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Surely yes; he had been telling himself
+this very thing all night. The groom
+hoisted in his portmanteau, and with a
+slam of the door they were off. The cold
+air sang past Taffy's ears. It put vigor
+into him, and his courage rose as he faced
+his shattered prospects, shattered dreams.
+He must be strong now, for his mother's
+sake; a man to work and be leant upon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so it was that whereas Honoria
+had found him a boy, Humility found him
+a man. As her arms went about him in
+her grief, she felt his body, that it was
+taller, broader; and knew, in the midst of
+her tears, that this was not the child she
+had parted from seven short weeks ago,
+but a man to act and give orders and be
+relied upon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He called for you ... many
+times," was all she could say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For Taffy had come too late. Mr.
+Raymond was dead. He had aggravated
+a slight chill by going back to his work
+too soon, and the bitter draughts of the
+church had cut him down within sight of
+his goal. A year before, he might have
+been less impatient. The chill struck into
+his lungs. On December 1st he had
+taken to his bed, and he never rallied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He called for me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Many times."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went up the stairs together and
+stood beside the bed. The thought uppermost
+in Taffy's mind was—"He called
+for me. He wanted me. He was my
+father, and I never knew him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Humility in her sorrow groped
+amid such questions as these: "What has
+happened? Who am I? Am I she who
+yesterday had a husband, and a child?
+To-day my husband is gone, and my child
+is no longer the same child."
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_353' name='Page_353' href='#Page_353'>353</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her room old Mrs. Venning remembered
+the first days of her own widowhood;
+and life seemed to her a very short
+affair, after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Honoria saw Taffy beside the grave.
+It was no season for out-of-door flowers
+and she had rifled her hot-houses for a
+wreath. The exotics shivered in the northwesterly
+wind; they looked meaningless,
+impertinent, in the gusty churchyard.
+Humility, before the coffin left the house,
+had brought the dead man's old blue working-blouse
+and spread it for a pall. No
+flowers grew in the parsonage garden; but
+pressed in her Bible lay a very little bunch
+gathered, years ago, in the meadows by
+Honiton. This she divided and, unseen
+by anyone, pinned the half upon the breast
+of the patched garment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the evening after the funeral and for
+the next day or two she was strangely
+quiet, and seemed to be waiting for Taffy
+to make some sign. Dearly as mother
+and son loved one another, they had to
+find their new positions, each toward each.
+Now Taffy had known nothing of his parents'
+income. He assumed that it was
+little enough, and that he must now leave
+Oxford and work to support the household.
+He knew some Latin and Greek;
+but without a degree he had little chance
+of teaching what he knew. He was a fair
+carpenter, and a more than passable smith....
+He revolved many schemes, but
+chiefly found himself wondering what it
+would cost to enter an architect's office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose," said he, "father left no
+will?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes, he did," said Humility, and
+produced it—a single sheet of foolscap
+signed on her wedding-day. It gave her
+all her husband's property absolutely—whatever
+it might be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," said Taffy, "I'm glad. I
+suppose there's enough for you to rent
+a small cottage, while I look about for
+work?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who talks about your finding work?
+You will go back to Oxford, of course."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, shall I?" said Taffy, taken aback.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly; it was your father's wish."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But the money?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"With your scholarship there's enough
+to keep you there for the four years. After
+that, no doubt, you will be earning a good
+income."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But—" He remembered what
+had been said about the lace-money, and
+could not help wondering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Taffy," said his mother, touching his
+hand, "leave all this to me until your degree
+is taken. You have a race to run
+and must not start unprepared. If you
+could have seen <i>his</i> joy when the news
+came of the demy-ship!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy kissed her and went up to his
+room. He found his books laid out on
+the little table there.
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+4
+</p>
+<p class="letter_head">
+<span class="smcap">Tredinnis</span>, February 13, 18—.
+</p>
+
+<p class="postClear">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Taffy</span>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have a valentine for you, if you care
+to accept it; but I don't suppose you will,
+and indeed I hope in my heart that you
+will not. But I must offer it. Your
+father's living is vacant, and my trustees
+(that is to say, Sir Harry; for the other,
+a second cousin of mine, who lives in
+London, never interferes) can put in someone
+as a stop-gap, thus allowing me to
+present you to it, when the time comes,
+if you have any thought of Holy Orders.
+You will understand exactly why I offer
+it; and also, I hope, you will know that
+I think it wholly unworthy of you. But
+turn it over in your mind and give me
+your answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+George and I are to be married at the
+end of April. May is an unlucky month.
+It shall be a week—even a fortnight—earlier,
+if that fits in with your vacation, and
+you care to come. See how obliging I am!
+I yield to you what I have refused to Sir
+Harry. We shall try to persuade the
+Bishop to come and open the church on
+the same day.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+Always your friend,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Honoria</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="center">
+5
+</p>
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">Tredinnis</span>, February 21st.
+</p>
+
+<p class="postClear">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Taffy</span>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, I am not offended in the least;
+but very glad. I do not think you are
+fitted for the priesthood; but my doubts
+have nothing to do with your doubts, which
+I don't understand, though you tried to
+explain them so carefully. You will come
+through <i>them</i>, I expect. I don't know
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_354' name='Page_354' href='#Page_354'>354</a></span>
+that I have any reasons that could be put
+on paper; only, somehow, I cannot <i>see</i>
+you in a black coat and clerical hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You complain that I never write about
+George. You don't deserve to hear, since
+you refuse to come to our wedding. But
+would <i>you</i> talk, if you happened to be in
+love? There, I have told you more than
+ever I've told George, whose quiet conceit
+has to be kept down. Let this console
+you.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our new Parson, when he comes, is to
+lodge down in Innis Village. Your mother—but
+no doubt she has told you—stays
+in the Parsonage while she pleases. She
+and your grandmother are both well. I
+see her every day. I have so much to
+learn and she is so wise. Her beautiful
+eyes—but oh, Taffy, it must be terrible to
+be a widow! She smiles and is always
+cheerful; but the <i>look</i> in them! How can
+I describe it? When I find her alone,
+with her lace-work, or sometimes (but it
+is not often) with her hands in her lap,
+she seems to come out of her silence with
+an effort, as others withdraw themselves
+from talk. I wonder if she does talk, in
+those silences of hers. Another thing—it
+is only a few weeks now since she put on
+a widow's cap, and yet I cannot remember
+her—can scarcely picture her—without
+it. I am sure that if I happened to
+call one day when she had laid it aside, I
+should begin to talk quite as if we were
+strangers.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+Believe me, yours sincerely,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Honoria</span>.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+But the wedding, after all, did not take
+place until the beginning of October, a
+week before the close of the Long Vacation;
+and Taffy, after all, was present.
+The postponement had been enforced
+by many delays in building and furnishing
+the new wing at Carwithiel; for Sir
+Harry insisted that the young couple must
+live under one roof with him, and Honoria
+(as we know) hated the very stones
+of Tredinnis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Bishop came to spend a week in
+the neighborhood, the first three days as
+Honoria's guest. On the Saturday he
+consecrated the work of restoration in the
+Church and, in the afternoon, held a confirmation
+service. Taffy and Honoria
+knelt together to receive his blessing. It
+was the girl's wish. The shadow of her
+responsibility to God and man lay heavy
+on her during the few months before her
+marriage, and Taffy, already weary and
+dispirited with his early doubtings, suffered
+her mood of exaltation to overcome
+him like a wave and sweep him back to
+rest for a while on the still waters of faith.
+Together they listened while the Bishop
+discoursed on the dead Vicar's labors with
+fluency and feeling; with so much feeling,
+indeed, that Taffy could not help
+wondering why his father had been left
+to fight the battle alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the Sunday and Monday two near
+parishes claimed the Bishop. On the
+Tuesday he sent his luggage over to Carwithiel,
+whither he was to follow after the
+wedding service, to spend a day or two
+with Sir Harry. It had been Honoria's
+wish that George should choose Taffy for
+his best man; but George had already invited
+one of his sporting friends, a young
+Squire Philpotts from the eastern side of
+the Duchy; and as the date fell at the
+beginning of the hunting season, he insisted
+on a "pink" wedding. Honoria consulted
+the Bishop by letter. "Did he
+approve of a 'pink' wedding so soon
+after the bride's confirmation?" The
+Bishop saw no harm in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So a "pink" wedding it was, and the
+scarlet coats made a lively patch of color
+in the gray churchyard; but it gave Taffy
+a feeling that he was left out in the cold.
+He escorted his mother to the church,
+and left her for a few minutes in the Vicarage
+pew. The bridegroom and his
+friends were gathered in a showy cluster
+by the chancel step, but the bride had
+not arrived, and he stepped out to help in
+marshalling the crowd of miners and mine-girls,
+fishermen, and mothers with unruly
+children—a hundred or so in all, lining
+the path or straggling among the graves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Close by the gate he came on a girl
+who stood alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo, Lizzie—you here?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not?" she asked, looking at
+him sullenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, no reason at all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There might ha' been a reason,"
+said she, speaking low and hurriedly.
+"You might ha' saved me from this, Mr.
+Raymond; and her too; one time, you
+might."
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_355' name='Page_355' href='#Page_355'>355</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, what on earth is the matter?"
+He looked up. The Tredinnis carriage
+and pair of grays came over the knoll at a
+smart trot and drew up before the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Matter?" Lizzie echoed with a short
+laugh. "Oh, nuthin'. I'm goin' to lay
+the curse on her, that's all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You shall not!" There was no time
+to lose. Honoria's trustee—the second
+cousin from London—a tall, clean-shaven
+man with a shiny, bald head, and a shiny
+hat in his hand—had stepped out and was
+helping the bride to alight. What Lizzie
+meant Taffy could not tell; but there
+must be no scene. He caught her hand.
+"Mind—I say you shall not!" he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lemme go—you're creamin' my fingers."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Be quiet, then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment Honoria passed up the
+path. Her wedding gown almost brushed
+him as he stood wringing Lizzie's hand.
+She did not appear to see him; but he saw
+her face beneath the bridal veil, and it was
+hard and white.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The proud toad!" said Lizzie. "I'm
+no better'n dirt, I suppose, though from
+the start she wasn' above robbin' me.
+Aw, she's sly.... Mr. Raymond, I'll
+curse her as she comes out, see if I don't!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And I swear you shall not," said Taffy.
+The scent of Honoria's orange-blossom
+seemed to cling about them as they stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lizzie looked at him vindictively. "You
+wanted her yourself, <i>I</i> know. You weren't
+good enough, neither. Let go my fingers!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go home, now. See, the people have
+all gone in."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go'st way in, too, then, and leave me
+here to wait for her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy shut his teeth, let go her hand, and
+taking her by the shoulders swung her
+round, face toward the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"March!" he commanded, and she
+moved off whimpering. Once she looked
+back. "March!" he repeated, and followed
+her down the road as one follows
+and threatens a mutinous dog.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The scene by the church gate had puzzled
+Honoria, and in her first letter (written
+from Italy) she came straight to the point,
+as her custom was. "I hope there is nothing
+between you and that girl who used to
+be at Joll's. I say nothing about our hopes
+for you, but you have your own career to
+look to; and as I know you are too honorable
+to flatter an ignorant girl when you
+mean nothing, so I trust you are too wise
+to be caught by a foolish fancy. Forgive
+a staid matron (of one week's standing)
+for writing so plainly; but what I saw
+made me uneasy; without cause, no doubt.
+Your future, remember, is not yours only.
+And now I shall trust you, and never come
+back to this subject.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We are like children abroad," she went
+on. "George's French is wonderful, but
+not so wonderful as his Italian. When he
+goes to take a ticket, he first of all shouts
+the name of the station he wishes to arrive
+at (for some reason he believes all foreigners
+to be deaf); then he begins counting
+down francs one by one, very slowly,
+watching the clerk's face. When the
+clerk's face tells him he has doled out
+enough, he shouts 'Hold hard!' and
+clutches the ticket. It takes time; but all
+the people here are friends with him at
+once—especially the children, whom he
+punches in the ribs and tells to 'buck up.'
+Their mothers nod and smile and openly
+admire him; and I—well, I am happy,
+and want everyone else to be happy!"
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+XXII
+<br />
+MEN AS TOWERS
+</h3>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapi.png" width="103" height="106" alt="I" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">It was May morning, and
+Taffy made one of the
+group gathered on the roof
+of Magdalen Tower. In the
+groves below and across the
+river-meadows all the birds
+were singing together. Beyond the glimmering
+suburbs, St. Clement's and Cowley
+St. John, over the dark rise by Bullingdon
+Green, the waning moon seemed to stand
+still and wait poised on her nether horn.
+Below her the morning sky waited, clean
+and virginal, letting her veil of mist slip
+lower and lower until it rested in folds
+upon the high woodlands and pastures.
+While it dropped, a shaft of light tore
+through it and smote flashing on the vane
+high above Taffy's head, turning the dark
+side of the turrets to purple and casting
+lilac shadows on the surplices of the choir.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_356' name='Page_356' href='#Page_356'>356</a></span>
+For a moment the whole dewy shadow of
+the tower trembled on the western sky,
+and melted and was gone as a flood of
+gold broke on the eastward-turned faces.
+The clock below struck five, and ceased.
+There was a sudden baring of heads; a
+hush; and gently, borne aloft on boys'
+voices, clear and strong, rose the first notes
+of the hymn—
+</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><span lang="la">Te Deum Patrem colimus,</span></p>
+<p><span lang="la">Te laudibus prosequimur,</span></p>
+<p><span lang="la">Qui corpus cibo reficis,</span></p>
+<p><span lang="la">Coelesti mentem gratia.</span></p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+
+<p>
+In the pauses Taffy heard, faint and far
+below, the noise of cowhorns blown by the
+street boys gathered at the foot of the
+tower and beyond the bridge. Close beside
+him a small urchin of a chorister was
+singing away with the face of an ecstatic
+seraph; whence that ecstasy arose the
+urchin would have been puzzled to tell.
+There flashed into Taffy's brain the vision
+of the whole earth lauding and adoring—sun-worshippers
+and Christians, priests and
+small children; nation after nation prostrating
+itself and arising to join the chant—"the
+differing world's agreeing sacrifice."
+Yes; it was Praise that made men
+brothers; praise, the creature's first and
+last act of homage to his Creator; praise
+that made him kin with the angels. Praise
+had lifted this tower; had expressed itself
+in its soaring pinnacles; and he for the
+moment was incorporate with the tower
+and part of its builder's purpose. "Lord,
+make men as towers!"—he remembered
+his father's prayer in the field by Tewkesbury;
+and at last he understood. "All
+towers carry a lamp of some kind"—why,
+of course they did. He looked about
+him. The small chorister's face was
+glowing—
+</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><span lang="la"><i>Triune Deus, hominum</i></span></p>
+<p><span lang="la"><i>Salutis auctor optime,</i></span></p>
+<p><span lang="la"><i>Immensum hoc mysterium</i></span></p>
+<p><span lang="la"><i>Ovante lingua canimus!</i></span></p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+
+<p>
+Silence—and then with a shout the tunable
+bells broke forth, rocking the tower.
+Someone seized Taffy's college-cap and
+sent it spinning over the battlements.
+Caps? For a second or two they darkened
+the sky like a flock of birds. A few gowns
+followed, expanding as they dropped, like
+clumsy parachutes. The company—all
+but a few severe dons and their friends—tumbled
+laughing down the ladder, down
+the winding stair, and out into sunshine.
+The world was pagan after all.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+At breakfast Taffy found a letter on his
+table, addressed in his mother's hand. As
+a rule she wrote twice a week, and this
+was not one of the usual days for hearing
+from her. But nothing was too good to
+happen that morning. He snatched up
+the letter and broke the seal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dearest boy," it ran, "I want
+you home at once to consult with me.
+Something has happened (forgive me, dear,
+for not preparing you; but the blow fell
+on me yesterday so suddenly)—something
+which makes it doubtful, and more than
+doubtful, that you can continue at Oxford.
+And something else <i>they say</i> has happened
+which I will never believe in unless I hear
+it from my boy's lips. I have this comfort,
+at any rate, that he will never tell me
+a falsehood. This is a matter which cannot
+be explained by letter, and cannot
+wait until the end of term. Come home
+quickly, dear; for until you are here I can
+have no peace of mind."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So once again Taffy travelled homeward
+by the night mail.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+"Mother, it's a lie!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy's face was hot, but he looked
+straight into his mother's eyes. She, too,
+was rosy-red, being ever a shamefast
+woman. And to speak of these things to
+her own boy—
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank God!" she murmured, and
+her fingers gripped the arms of her chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a lie! Where is the girl?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She is in the workhouse. I don't
+know who spread it, or how many have
+heard. But Honoria believes it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Honoria! She cannot—" He came
+to a sudden halt. "But, mother, even
+supposing Honoria believes it, I don't
+see—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was looking straight at her. Her
+eyes sank. Light began to break in on
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mother!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Humility did not look up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mother! Don't tell me that she—that
+Honoria—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She made us promise—your father
+and me.... God knows it did no
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_357' name='Page_357' href='#Page_357'>357</a></span>
+more than repay what your father had
+suffered.... Your future was everything
+to us...."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And I have been maintained at Oxford
+by her money," he said, pausing in
+his bitterness on every word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not by that only, Taffy! There
+was your scholarship ... and it was
+true about my savings on the lace-work...."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he brushed her feeble explanations
+away with a little gesture of impatience.
+"Oh, why, mother? Oh, why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heard him groan and stretched out
+her arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Taffy, forgive me—forgive us! We
+did wrongly, I see—I see it as plain now
+as you. But we did it for your sake."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You should have told me. I was not
+a child. Yes, yes, you should have told
+me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes; there lay the truth. They had treated
+him as a child when he was no longer
+a child. They had swathed him round
+with love, forgetting that boys grow and
+demand to see with their own eyes and
+walk on their own feet. To every mother
+of sons there comes sooner or later the
+sharp lesson which came to Humility that
+morning; and few can find any defence
+but that which Humility stammered, sitting
+in her chair and gazing piteously up at the
+tall youth confronting her: "I did it for
+your sake." Be pitiful, O accusing sons,
+in that hour! For, terrible as your case
+may be against them, your mothers are
+speaking the simple truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy took her hand "The money
+must be paid back, every penny of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How much?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Humility kept a small account-book in
+the work-box beside her. She opened the
+pages, but, seeing his outstretched hand,
+gave it obediently to Taffy, who took it to
+the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Almost two hundred pounds." He
+knit his brows and began to drum with
+his fingers on the window-pane. "And
+we must put the interest at five per cent....
+With my first in moderations I
+might find some post as an usher in a
+small school.... There's an agency
+which puts you in the way of such things;
+I must look up the address.... We
+will leave this house, of course."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Must we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, of course, we must. We are living
+here by <i>her</i> favor. A cottage will
+do—only it must have four rooms, because
+of grandmother.... I will
+step over and talk with Mendarva. He
+may be able to give me a job. It will
+keep me going, at any rate, until I hear
+from the agency."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You forget that I have over forty
+pounds a year—or, rather, mother has.
+The capital came from the sale of her farm,
+years ago."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Did it?" said Taffy, grimly. "You
+forget that I have never been told. Well,
+that's good, so far as it goes. But now
+I'll step over and see Mendarva. If only
+I could catch this cowardly lie somewhere,
+on my way!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He kissed his mother, caught up his
+cap, and flung out of the house. The sea-breeze
+came humming across the sandhills.
+He opened his lungs to it, and it
+was wine to his blood; he felt fit and
+strong enough to slay dragons. "But
+who could the liar be? Not Lizzie herself,
+surely? Not—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pulled up short, in a hollow of the
+towans.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not—George?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Treachery is a hideous thing, and to
+youth so incomprehensibly hideous that it
+darkens the sun. Yet every trusting man
+must be betrayed. That was one of the
+lessons of Christ's life on earth. It is the
+last and severest test; it kills many, morally,
+and no man who has once met and
+looked it in the face departs the same man,
+though he may be a stronger one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not <i>George</i>?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy stood there so still that the rabbits
+crept out and, catching sight of him,
+paused in the mouths of their burrows.
+When at length he moved on, it was to
+take, not the path which wound inland to
+Mendarva's, but the one which led straight
+over the higher moors to Carwithiel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was between one and two o'clock
+when he reached the house and asked to
+see Mr. or Mrs. George Vyell. They
+were not at home, the footman said; had
+left for Falmouth, the evening before, to
+join some friends on a yachting cruise.
+Sir Harry was at home; was, indeed,
+lunching at that moment; but would no
+doubt be pleased to see Mr. Raymond.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_358' name='Page_358' href='#Page_358'>358</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sir Harry had finished his lunch and sat
+sipping his claret and tossing scraps of biscuit
+to the dogs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo, Raymond!—thought you were
+in Oxford. Sit down, my boy; delighted
+to see you. Thomas, a knife and fork for
+Mr. Raymond. The cutlets are cold, I'm
+afraid, but I can recommend the cold
+saddle, and the ham—it's a York ham.
+Go to the sideboard and forage for yourself.
+I wanted company. My boy and
+Honoria are at Falmouth, yachting, and
+have left me alone. What, you won't
+eat? A glass of claret then, at any
+rate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To tell the truth, Sir Harry," Taffy
+began, awkwardly, "I've come on a disagreeable
+business."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sir Harry's face fell. He hated disagreeable
+business. He flipped a piece of
+biscuit at his spaniel's nose and sat back,
+crossing his legs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Won't it keep?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To me it's important."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, fire away then; only help yourself
+to the claret first."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A girl—Lizzie Pezzack, living over at
+Langona—has had a child born—"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Stop a moment. Do I know her?—Ah,
+to be sure—daughter of old Pezzack,
+the light-keeper—a brown-colored girl
+with her hair over her eyes. Well, I'm not
+surprised. Wants money, I suppose?
+Who's the father?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, but—damn it all!—somebody
+knows." Sir Harry reached for the bottle
+and refilled his glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The one thing I know is that Honoria—Mrs.
+George, I mean—has heard about it,
+and suspects me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sir Harry lifted his glass and glanced
+at him over the rim. "That's the devil.
+Does she, now?" He sipped. "She hasn't
+been herself for a day or two—this explains
+it. I thought it was change of air
+she wanted. She's in the deuce of a rage,
+you bet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She is," said Taffy, grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's no prude like your young married
+woman. But it'll blow over, my boy.
+My advice to you is to keep out of the way
+for a while."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But—but it's a lie!" broke in the indignant
+Taffy. "As far as I am concerned
+there's not a grain of truth in it!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh—I beg your pardon, I'm sure."
+Here Honoria's terrier (the one which
+George had bought for her at Plymouth)
+interrupted by begging for a biscuit, and
+Sir Harry balanced one carefully on its
+nose. "On trust—good dog! What
+does the girl say herself?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know. I've not seen her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then, my dear fellow—it's awkward,
+I admit—but I'm dashed if I see what
+you expect me to do." The baronet
+pulled out a handkerchief and began flicking
+the crumbs off his knees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy watched him for a minute in
+silence. He was asking himself why he
+had come. Well, he had come in a hot
+fit of indignation, meaning to face Honoria
+and force her to take back the insult of
+her suspicion. But after all—suppose
+George were at the bottom of it? Clearly
+Sir Harry knew nothing, and in any case
+could not be asked to expose his own son.
+And Honoria? Let be that she would
+never believe—that he had no proof, no
+evidence even—this were a pretty way of
+beginning to discharge his debt to her!
+The terrier thrust a cold muzzle against
+his hand. The room was very still. Sir
+Harry poured out another glassful and
+held out the decanter. "Come, you must
+drink; I insist!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy looked up. "Thank you, I will."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could now and with a clear conscience.
+In those quiet moments he had
+taken the great resolution. The debt
+should be paid back, and with interest;
+not at five per cent., but at a rate beyond
+the creditor's power of reckoning. For the
+interest to be guarded for her should be
+her continued belief in the man she loved.
+Yes, <i>but if George were innocent</i>? Why,
+then, the sacrifice would be idle; that was
+all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He swallowed the wine, and stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Must you be going? I wanted a chat
+with you about Oxford," grumbled Sir
+Harry; but noting the lad's face, how
+white and drawn it was, he relented and
+put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't take
+it too seriously, my boy. It'll blow over—it'll
+blow over. Honoria likes you, I
+know. We'll see what the trollop says;
+and if I get a chance of putting in a good
+word, you may depend on me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked with Taffy to the door—good,
+easy man—and waved a hand from
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_359' name='Page_359' href='#Page_359'>359</a></span>
+the porch. On the whole he was rather
+glad than not to see his young friend's
+back.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+From his smithy window Mendarva
+spied Taffy coming along the road, and
+stepped out on the green to shake hands
+with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pleased to see your face, my son!
+You'll excuse my not askin' 'ee inside;
+but the fact is"—he jerked his thumb toward
+the smithy—"we've a-got our
+troubles in there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It came on our youth with something of
+a shock, that the world had room for any
+trouble beside his own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Tis the Dane. He went over to
+Truro yesterday to the wrastlin', an' got
+thrawed. I tell'n there's no need to be
+shamed. 'Twas Luke the Wendron fella
+did it—in the treble play—inside lock
+backward, and as pretty a chip as ever
+I see." Mendarva began to illustrate it
+with foot and ankle, but checked himself
+and glanced nervously over his shoulder.
+"Isn' lookin', I hope? He's in a terrible
+pore about it. Won't trust hissel' to spake
+and don't want to see nobody. But, as
+I tell'n, there's no need to be shamed; the
+fella took the belt in the las' round and
+turned his man over like a tab. He's a
+proper angletwitch, that Wendron fella.
+Stank 'pon en both ends, and he'll rise up
+in the middle and look at 'ee. There was
+no one a patch on en but the Dane; and
+I'll back the Dane next time they clinch.
+'Tis a nuisance, though, to have'n like
+this—with a big job coming on, too, over
+to the light-house."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy looked steadily at the smith.
+"What's doing at the light-house?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ha'n't 'ee heerd?" Mendarva began
+a long tale, the sum of which was that the
+light-house had begun of late to show
+signs of age, to rock at times in an ominous
+manner. The Trinity House surveyor
+had been down, and reported, and Mendarva
+had the contract for some immediate
+repairs. "But 'tis patching an old kettle,
+my son. The foundations be clamped
+down to the rock, and the clamps have
+worked loose. The whole thing'll have
+to come down in the end; you mark my
+words."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But, these repairs?" Taffy interrupted.
+"You'll be wanting hands."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, o' course."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And a foreman—a clerk of the
+works—"
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+While Mendarva was telling his tale,
+over a hill two miles to the westward a
+small donkey-cart crawled for a minute
+against the skyline and disappeared beyond
+the ridge which hid the towans. An
+old man trudged at the donkey's head;
+and a young woman sat in the cart with a
+bundle in her arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old man trudged along so deep in
+thought that when the donkey without
+rhyme or reason came to a halt, half-way
+down the hill, he, too, halted, and stood
+pulling a wisp of gray side-whiskers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here," he said. "You ent goin'
+to tell? That's your las' word, is it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young woman looked down on the
+bundle and nodded her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There, that'll do. If you weant, you
+weant; I've tek'n 'ee back, an' us must fit
+and make the best o't. The cheeld'll never
+be fit for much—born lame like that. But
+'twas to be, I s'pose."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lizzie sat dumb, but hugged the bundle
+closer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Tis like a judgment. If your mother'd
+been spared, 'twudn' have happened. But
+'twas to be, I s'pose. The Lord's ways
+be past findin' out."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He woke up and struck the donkey
+across the rump.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Gwan you! Gee up! What d'ee mean
+by stoppin' like that?"
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+XXIII
+<br />
+
+THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP
+</h3>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapt.png" width="103" height="106" alt="I" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">
+The Chief Engineer of the
+Trinity House was a man
+of few words. He and
+Taffy had spent the afternoon
+clambering about the
+rocks below the light-house,
+peering into its foundations. Here and
+there, where weed coated the rocks and
+made foothold slippery, he took the hand
+which Taffy held out. Now and then he
+paused for a pinch of snuff. The round
+of inspection finished, he took an extraordinarily
+long pinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's <i>your</i> opinion?" he asked,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_360' name='Page_360' href='#Page_360'>360</a></span>
+cocking his head on one side and examining
+the young man much as he had examined
+the light-house. "You have one,
+I suppose."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir; but of course it doesn't
+count for much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I asked for it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, then, I think, sir, we have wasted
+a year's work; and if we go on tinkering,
+we shall waste more."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pull it down and rebuild, you say?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir; but not on the same rock."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This rock was ill-chosen. You see,
+sir, just here a ridge of elvan crops up
+through the slate; the rock, out yonder,
+is good elvan, and that is why the sea has
+made an island of it, wearing away the
+softer stuff inshore. The mischief here lies
+in the rock, not in the light-house."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The sea has weakened our base?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Partly; but the light-house has done
+more. In a strong gale the foundations
+begin to work, and in the chafing the bed
+of rock gets the worst of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What about concrete?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You might fill up the sockets with
+concrete; but I doubt, sir, if the case
+would hold for any time. The rock is a
+mere shell in places, especially on the
+northwestern side."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"H'm. You were at Oxford for a time,
+were you not?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir," Taffy answered, wondering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've heard about you. Where do
+you live?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy pointed to the last of a line of
+three whitewashed cottages behind the
+light-house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Alone?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, sir; with my mother and my
+grandmother. She is an invalid."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder if your mother would be
+kind enough to offer me a cup of tea?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the small kitchen, on the walls of
+which, and even on the dresser, Taffy's
+books fought for room with Humility's
+plates and tin-ware, the Chief Engineer
+proved to be a most courteous old gentleman.
+Toward Humility he bore himself
+with an antique politeness which flattered
+her considerably. And when he praised
+her tea, she almost forgave him for his detestable
+habit of snuff-taking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had heard something (it appeared)
+from the President of Taffy's college, and
+also from — (he named Taffy's old
+friend in the velvet college-cap). In later
+days Taffy maintained not only that every
+man must try to stand alone, but that he
+ought to try the harder because of its impossibility;
+for in fact it was impossible
+to escape from men's helpfulness. And
+though his work lay in lonely places where
+in the end fame came out to seek him, he
+remained the same boy who, waking in
+the dark, had heard the bugles speaking
+comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As a matter of fact his college had generously
+offered him a chance, which would
+have cost him nothing or next to nothing,
+of continuing to read for his degree. But
+he had chosen his line, and against Humility's
+entreaties he stuck to it. The Chief
+Engineer took a ceremonious leave. He
+had to drive back to his hotel, and Taffy
+escorted him to his carriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall run over again to-morrow," he
+said at parting; "and we'll have a look
+at that island rock." He was driven off,
+secretly a little puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, it puzzled Taffy at times why he
+should be working here with Mendarva's
+men for twenty shillings a week (it had
+been eighteen to begin with) when he
+might be reading for his degree and a fellowship.
+Yet in his heart he knew the
+reason. <i>That</i> would be building, after all,
+on the foundations which Honoria had
+laid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pride had helped chance to bring him
+here, to the very spot where Lizzie Pezzack
+lived. He met her daily, and several times
+a day. She, and his mother and grandmother,
+were all the womanfolk in the hamlet—if
+three cottages deserve that name.
+In the first cottage Lizzie lived with her
+father, who was chief lighthouse-man, and
+her crippled child; two under-keepers,
+unmarried men, managed together in the
+second; and this accident allowed Taffy
+to rent the third from the Brethren of the
+Trinity House and live close to his daily
+work. Unless brought by business, no
+one visited that windy peninsula; no one
+passed within sight of it; no tree grew
+upon it or could be seen from it. At daybreak
+Taffy's workmen came trudging
+along the track where the short turf and
+gentians grew between the wheel-ruts; and
+in the evening went trudging back, the
+level sun flashing on their empty dinner-cans.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_361' name='Page_361' href='#Page_361'>361</a></span>
+The eight souls left behind had one
+common gospel—Cleanliness. Very little
+dust found its way thither; but the salt,
+spray-laden air kept them constantly polishing
+window-panes and brass-work. To
+wash, to scour, to polish, grew into the
+one absorbing business of life. They had
+no gossip; even in their own dwellings
+they spoke but little; their speech shrank
+and dwindled away in the continuous roar
+of the sea. But from morning to night,
+mechanically, they washed and scoured
+and polished. Paper was not whiter than
+the deal table and dresser which Humility
+scrubbed daily with soap and water, and
+once a week with lemon-juice as well.
+Never was cleaner linen to sight and smell
+than that which she pegged out by the
+furze-brake on the ridge. All the life of
+the small colony, though lonely, grew
+wholesome as it was simple of purpose in
+cottages thus sweetened and kept sweet
+by lime-wash and the salt wind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And through it moved the forlorn figure
+of Lizzie Pezzack's child. Somehow
+Lizzie had taught the boy to walk, with
+the help of a crutch, as early as most children;
+but the wind made cruel sport with
+his first efforts in the open, knocking the
+crutch from under him at every third step,
+and laying him flat. The child had pluck,
+however, and when autumn came round
+again, could face a fairly stiff breeze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was about this time that word came
+of the Trinity Board's intention to replace
+the old light-house with one upon the
+outer rock. For the Chief Engineer had
+visited it and decided that Taffy was right.
+To be sure no mention was made of Taffy
+in his report; but the great man took
+the first opportunity to offer him the post
+of foreman of the works, so there was
+certainly nothing to be grumbled at. The
+work did not actually start until the
+following spring; for the rock, to receive
+the foundations, had to be bored some
+feet below high-water level, and this could
+only be attempted on calm days or when
+a southerly wind blew from the high land
+well over the workmen's heads, leaving
+the inshore water smooth. On such days
+Taffy, looking up from his work, would
+catch sight of a small figure on the cliff-top
+leaning aslant to the wind and watching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the child was adventurous and
+took no account of his lameness. Perhaps
+if he thought of it at all, having no
+chance to compare himself with other
+children, he accepted his lameness as a
+condition of childhood—something he
+would grow out of. His mother could
+not keep him indoors; he fidgetted continually.
+But he would sit or stand quiet
+by the hour on the cliff-top, watching the
+men as they drilled and fixed the dynamite,
+and waiting for the bang of it. Best
+of all, however, were the days when his
+grandfather allowed him inside the lighthouse,
+to clamber about the staircase and
+ladders, to watch the oiling and trimming
+of the great lantern and the ships moving
+slowly on the horizon. He asked a thousand
+questions about them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think," said he, one day before he
+was three years old, "that my father is in
+one of those ships."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bless the child!" exclaimed old Pezzack.
+"Who says you have a father?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Everybody</i> has a father. Dicky Tregenza
+has one; they both work down at
+the rock. I asked Dicky and he told
+me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Told 'ee what?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That everybody has a father. I
+asked him if mine was out in one of those
+ships, and he said very likely. I asked
+mother, too, but she was washing-up and
+wouldn't listen."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Pezzack regarded the child grimly.
+"'Twas to be, I s'pose," he muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lizzie Pezzack had never set foot inside
+the Raymonds' cottage. Humility,
+gentle soul as she was, could on some
+points be as unchristian as other women.
+As time went on, it seemed that not a soul
+beside herself and Taffy knew of Honoria's
+suspicion. She even doubted, and Taffy
+doubted, too, if Lizzie herself knew such
+an accusation had been made. Certainly
+never by word or look had Lizzie hinted
+at it. Yet Humility could not find it in
+her heart to forgive her. "She may be
+innocent," was the thought; "but through
+her came the injury to my son." Taffy
+by this time had no doubt at all. It was
+George who poisoned Honoria's ear;
+George's shame and Honoria's pride
+would explain why the whisper had never
+gone further; and nothing else would explain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Did his mother guess this? He believed
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_362' name='Page_362' href='#Page_362'>362</a></span>
+so at times; but they never spoke
+of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lame child was often in the Raymonds'
+kitchen. Lizzie did not forbid or
+resent this. And he liked Humility and
+would talk to her at length while he nibbled
+one of her dripping-cakes. "People
+don't tell the truth," he observed,
+sagely, on one of these occasions. (He
+pronounced it "troof," by the way.)
+"<i>I</i> know why we live here. It's because
+we're near the sea. My father's on the
+sea somewhere, looking for us; and grandfather
+lights the lamp every night to tell
+him where we are. One night he'll see it
+and bring his ship in and take us all off
+together."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who told you all this?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nobody. People won't tell me nothing
+(nofing). I has to make it out in my
+head."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At times, when his small limbs grew
+weary (though he never acknowledged
+this), he would stretch himself on the short
+turf of the headland and lie staring up at
+the white gulls. No one ever came near
+enough to surprise the look which then
+crept over the child's face. But Taffy,
+passing him at a distance, remembered
+another small boy, and shivered to remember
+and compare—
+</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A boy's will is the wind's will</p>
+<p>And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.</p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+
+<p>
+—but how, when the boy is a cripple?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One afternoon he was stooping to inspect
+an obstinate piece of boring when
+the man at his elbow said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo! edn' that young Joey Pezzack
+in difficulties up there? Blest if the cheeld
+won't break his neck wan of these days!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy caught up a coil of rope, sprang
+into a boat, and pushed across to land.
+"Don't move!" he shouted. At the foot of
+the cliff he picked up Joey's crutch, and ran
+at full speed up the path worn by the workmen.
+This led him round to the verge,
+ten feet above the ledge where the child
+clung white and silent. He looped the
+rope in a running noose and lowered it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Slip this under your arms. Can you
+manage, or shall I come down? I'll come
+if you're hurt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've twisted my foot. It's all right,
+now you're come," said the little man,
+bravely; and slid the rope round himself
+in the most businesslike way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The grass was slipper—" he began,
+as soon as his feet touched firm earth; and
+with that he broke down and fell to sobbing
+in Taffy's arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taffy carried him—a featherweight—to
+the cottage where Lizzie stood by her
+table washing up. She saw them at the
+gate and came running out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's all right. He slipped—out on the
+cliff. Nothing more than a scratch or two
+and perhaps a sprained ankle."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He watched while she set Joey in a
+chair and began to pull off his stockings.
+He had never seen the child's foot naked.
+She turned suddenly, caught him looking,
+and pulled the stocking back over the deformity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you heard?" she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>She</i> has a boy! Ah!" she laughed,
+harshly, "I thought that would hurt you.
+Well, you <i>have</i> been a silly!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think I understand."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You don't think you understand!"
+she mimicked. "And you're not fond of
+her, eh? Never were fond of her, eh?
+You silly—to let him take her, and never
+tell!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tell?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She faced him, hardening her gaze.
+"Yes, tell—" She nodded slowly; while
+Joey, unobserved by either, looked up with
+wide, round eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Men don't fight like that." The words
+were out before it struck him that one
+man had, almost certainly, fought like that.
+Her face, however, told him nothing. She
+could not know. "<i>You</i> have never told,"
+he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because—" she began, but could not
+tell him the whole truth. And yet what
+she said was true. "Because you would
+not let me," she muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In the churchyard, you mean—on her
+wedding-day?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Before that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But before that I never guessed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All the same, I knew what you were.
+You wouldn't have let me. It came to
+the same thing. And if I had told—Oh,
+you make it hard for me!" she wailed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at her, understanding this
+only—that somehow he could control her
+will.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_363' name='Page_363' href='#Page_363'>363</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I will never let you tell," he said,
+gravely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hate her!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You shall not tell."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Listen"—she drew close and touched
+his arm. "He never cared for her; it's
+not his way to care. She cares for him
+now, I dessay—not as she might have
+cared for you—but she's his wife, and
+some women are like that. There's her
+pride, anyway. Suppose—suppose he
+came back to me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If I caught him—" Taffy began;
+but the poor child, who for two minutes
+had been twisting his face heroically, interrupted
+with a wail:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, mother! my foot—it hurts
+so!"
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+(To be continued.)
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>
+ROMANCE
+</h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Say that the days of the dark are dawning,</p>
+<p class="i1">Say that we come to the middle years,</p>
+<p>The workday week that hath no bright morning,</p>
+<p class="i1">The life that is dulled of its hopes and fears—</p>
+<p>But, the cooled blood still and the tired heart scorning,</p>
+<p class="i1">The soul is in eyes that are dry of tears.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Quiet thy heart, since others are loving;</p>
+<p class="i1">Still thy soul, for the sky is vast;</p>
+<p>Rest thy limbs from the stale earth roving,</p>
+<p class="i1">Plow in the furrow thy lot is cast:</p>
+<p>So, when the Spring all the earth is moving,</p>
+<p class="i1">A flower may fall to thy feet at last.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Charles the King at the block stood biding</p>
+<p class="i1">The blow that set him at peace with man,</p>
+<p>Weary of life, of the crowd deriding,</p>
+<p class="i1">Worn at his lips his smile so wan—</p>
+<p>Under the floor of the block lay hiding</p>
+<p class="i1">Athos and Porthos and d'Artagnan!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Perhaps;—and so, while the hand still turneth,</p>
+<p class="i1">As one's who serves, to his daily chore;</p>
+<p>While she who once walked beside, returneth</p>
+<p class="i1">To walk with her hand in thine no more—</p>
+<p>Under thy heart's work-wear there burneth</p>
+<p class="i1">The love that is hers for evermore.</p>
+</div></div></div><!-- /poetry-container -->
+
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_364' name='Page_364' href='#Page_364'>364</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+SEARCH-LIGHT LETTERS
+<br />
+<span class="s08">LETTER TO A POLITICAL OPTIMIST</span><br />
+
+By Robert Grant
+</h2>
+
+<h3>
+I
+</h3>
+
+<div class="divdropcapbox">
+<img class="imgdropcap-el" src="images/dropcapi.png" width="103" height="106" alt="I" />
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst pdropcap">
+I approve of you, for I
+am an optimist myself in
+regard to human affairs,
+and can conscientiously
+agree with many of the
+patriotic statements concerning
+the greatness of the American people
+contained in your letter. Your letter
+interested me because it differed so signally
+in its point of view from the others which I
+received at the same time—the time when
+I ran for Congress as a Democrat in a hopelessly
+Republican district and was defeated.
+The other letters were gloomy in tone.
+They deplored the degeneracy of our political
+institutions, and argued from the
+circumstance that the voters of my district
+preferred "a hack politician" and "blatant
+demagogue" to "an educated philosopher"
+(the epithets are not mine); that we
+were going to the dogs as a nation. The
+prophecy was flattering to me in my individual
+capacity, but it has not served to
+soil the limpid, sunny flow of my philosophy.
+I was gratified, but not convinced.
+I behold the flag of my country still with
+moistened eyes—the eyes of pride, and I
+continue to bow affably to my successful
+rival.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Your suggestion was much nearer the
+truth. You indicated with pardonable
+levity that I was not elected because the
+other man received more votes. I smiled
+at that as an apt statement. You went
+on to take me to task for having given the
+impression in my published account of the
+political canvass not merely that I ought
+to have been elected, but that the failure
+to elect me was the sign of a lack of moral
+and intellectual fibre in the American
+people. If I mistake not, you referred to
+me farther on in the style of airy persiflage
+as a "holier than thou," a journalistic,
+scriptural phrase in current use among so-called
+patriotic Americans. And then
+you began to argue: You requested me
+to give us time, and called attention to
+the fact that the English system of rotten
+boroughs in vogue fifty years ago
+was worse than anything we have to-day.
+"We are a young and impetuous people,"
+you wrote, "but there is noble blood in our
+veins—the blood which inspired the greatness
+of Washington and Hamilton and
+Franklin and Jefferson and Webster and
+Abraham Lincoln. Water does not run
+up hill. Neither do the American people
+move backward. Its destiny is to progress
+and to grow mightier and mightier.
+And those who seek to retard our national
+march by cynical insinuations and sneers,
+by scholastic sophistries and philosophical
+wimwams, will find themselves inevitably
+under the wheels of Juggernaut, the car
+of republican institutions."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Philosophical wimwams! You sought
+to wound me in a tender spot. I forgive
+you for that, and I like your fervor. Those
+rotten boroughs have done yeoman service.
+They are on the tongue of every
+American citizen seeking for excuses for
+our national shortcomings. But for my
+dread of a mixed metaphor I would add
+that they are moth-eaten and threadbare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Your letter becomes then a miscellaneous
+catalogue of our national prowess.
+You instance the cotton-gin, the telegraph,
+the sewing-machine, and the telephone,
+and ask me to bear witness that they are the
+inventions of free-born Americans. You
+refer to the heroism and vigor of the nation
+during the Civil War, and its mighty
+growth in prosperity and population since;
+to the colleges and academies of learning,
+to the hospitals and other monuments of
+intelligent philanthropy, to the huge railroad
+systems, public works, and private
+plants which have come into being with
+mushroom-like growth over the country.
+You recall the energy, independence, and
+conscientious desire for Christian progress
+among our citizens, young and old,
+and, as a new proof of their disinterested
+readiness to sacrifice comfort for the sake
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_365' name='Page_365' href='#Page_365'>365</a></span>
+of principle, you cite the recent emancipation
+of Cuba. Your letter closes with
+a Fourth of July panegyric on the heroes
+on land and sea of the war with Spain,
+followed by an exclamation point which
+seems to say, "Mr. Philosopher, put that
+in your pipe and smoke it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have done so, and admit that there is
+a great deal to be proud of in the Olla
+Podrida of exploits and virtues which you
+have set before me. Far be it from me
+to question the greatness and capacity of
+your and my countrymen. But while my
+heart throbs agreeably from the thrill of
+sincere patriotism, I venture to remind you
+that cotton-gins, academies of learning,
+and first-class battle-ships have little to do
+with the matter in question. Your mode
+of procedure reminds me of the plea I have
+heard used to obtain partners for a homely
+girl—that she is good to her mother. I
+notice that you include our political sanctity
+by a few sonorous phrases in the
+dazzling compendium of national success,
+but I also notice that you do not condescend
+to details. That is what I intend to
+do, philosophically yet firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To begin with, I am not willing to admit
+that I was piqued by my failure to be elected
+to Congress. I did not expect to succeed,
+and my tone was, it seems to me,
+blandly resigned and even rather grateful
+than otherwise that such a serious honor
+had been thrust upon me. Success would
+have postponed indefinitely the trip to
+Japan on which my wife, Josephine, had
+set her heart. In short, I supposed that I
+had concealed alike grief and jubilation,
+and taken the result in a purely philosophic
+spirit. It seems though that you were able
+to read between the lines—that is what you
+state—and to discern my condescending
+tone and lack of faith in the desire and intention
+of the plain people of these United
+States to select competent political representatives.
+I can assure you that I have
+arrived at no such dire state of mind, and
+I should be sorry to come to that conclusion;
+but, though a philosopher, and
+hence, politically speaking, a worm, I have
+a proper spirit of my own and beg to inform
+you that the desire and intention of
+our fellow-countrymen, whether plain or
+otherwise, so to do is, judging by their behavior,
+open to grave question. So you
+see I stand at bay almost where you supposed,
+and there is a definite issue between
+us. Judging by their behavior, remember.
+Judging by their words, butter would not
+melt in their mouths. I merely wish to call
+your attention to a few notorious facts in
+defence of my attitude of suspicion.
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+(<i>Note.</i>—"Josephine," said I to my wife
+at this point, "please enumerate the prominent
+elective offices in the gift of the
+American people."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wife rose and after a courtesy, which
+was mock deferential, proceeded to recite,
+with the glib fluency of a school-girl, the
+following list: "Please, sir,
+</p>
+
+<ul class="idx">
+<li>President.</li>
+<li>Senators of the United States (elected by the State legislatures).</li>
+<li>Representatives of the United States.</li>
+<li>State Senators.</li>
+<li>State Assemblymen or Representatives.</li>
+<li>Aldermen.</li>
+<li>Members of the City Council.</li>
+<li>Members of the School Committee."</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>
+"Correct, Josephine. I pride myself
+that, thanks to my prodding, you are beginning
+to acquire some rudimentary
+knowledge concerning the institutions of
+your country. Thanks to me and Professor
+Bryce. Before Professor Bryce
+wrote 'The American Commonwealth,'
+American women seemed to care little to
+know anything about our political system.
+They studied more or less about the systems
+of other countries, but displayed a
+profound ignorance concerning our own
+form of government. But after an Englishman
+had published a book on the subject,
+and made manifest to them that our institutions
+were reasonably worthy of attention,
+considerable improvement has been noticeable.
+But I will say that few women are
+as well posted as you, Josephine."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She made another mock deferential
+courtesy. "Thank you, my lord and master;
+and lest you have not made it sufficiently
+clear that my superiority in this
+respect is due to your—your nagging, I
+mention again that you are chiefly responsible
+for it. It bores me, but I submit
+to it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Continue then your docility so far as to
+write the names which you have just recited
+on separate slips of paper and put
+them in a proper receptacle. Then I will
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_366' name='Page_366' href='#Page_366'>366</a></span>
+draw one as a preliminary step in the political
+drama which I intend to present for
+the edification of our correspondent."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Josephine did as she was bid, and in the
+process, by way of showing that she was
+not such a martyr as she would have the
+world believe, remarked, "If you had really
+been elected, Fred, I think I might have
+made a valuable political ally. What I
+find tedious about politics is that they're
+not practical—that is for me. If you were
+in Congress now, I should make a point of
+having everything political at the tip of
+my tongue."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Curiously enough, my dear, I am just
+going to give an object-lesson in practical
+politics, and you as well as our young
+friend may be able to learn wisdom from
+it. Now for a blind choice!" I added,
+putting my hand into the work-bag which
+she held out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aldermen!" I announced after scrutinizing
+the slip, which I had drawn. Josephine's
+nose went up a trifle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A very fortunate and comprehensive
+selection," I asserted. "The Alderman and
+the influences which operate upon and
+around him lie at the root of American practical
+politics. And from a careful study of
+the root you will be able to decide how genuinely
+healthy and free from taint must be
+the tree—the tree which bears such ornamental
+flowers as Presidents and United
+States Senators, gorgeous blooms of apparent
+dignity and perfume.")
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+This being a drama, my young patriot,
+I wish to introduce you to the stage and
+the principal characters. The stage is any
+city in the United States of three hundred
+thousand or more inhabitants. It would
+be invidious for me to mention names
+where anyone would answer to the requirements.
+Some may be worse than
+others, but all are bad enough. A bold
+and pessimistic beginning, is it not, my
+optimistic friend?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now for the company. This drama
+differs from most dramatic productions in
+that it makes demands upon a large number
+of actors. To produce it properly on
+the theatrical stage would bankrupt any
+manager unless he were subsidized heavily
+from the revenues of the twenty leading
+villains. The cast includes besides
+twenty leading villains, twelve low comedians,
+no hero, no heroine (except, incidentally,
+Josephine); eight newspaper
+editors; ten thousand easy-going second-class
+villains; ten thousand patriotic,
+conscientious, and enlightened citizens, including
+a sprinkling of ardent reformers;
+twenty-five thousand zealous, hide-bound
+partisans; fifty thousand respectable, well-intentioned,
+tolerably ignorant citizens who
+vote, but are too busy with their own affairs
+to pay attention to politics, and as a
+consequence generally vote the party
+ticket, or vote to please a "friend;" ten
+thousand superior, self-centred souls who
+neglect to vote and despise politics anyway,
+among them poets, artists, scientists,
+some men of leisure, and travellers; ten
+thousand enemies of social order such as
+gamblers, thieves, keepers of dives, drunkards,
+and toughs; and your philosopher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very large stock company. I will
+leave the precise arithmetic to you. I
+wish merely to indicate the variegated
+composition of the average political constituency,
+and to let you perceive that the
+piece which is being performed is no parlor
+comedy. It is written in dead earnest,
+and it seems to me that the twenty leading
+villains, though smooth and in some
+instances aristocratic appearing individuals,
+are among the most dangerous characters
+in the history of this or any other
+stage. But before I refer to them more
+particularly I will make you acquainted
+with our twelve low comedians—the Board
+of Aldermen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is probably a surprise to you and to
+Josephine that the Aldermen are not the
+villains. Everything is comparative in
+this world, and, though I might have
+made them villains without injustice to
+such virtues as they possess, I should
+have been at a loss how to stigmatize the
+real promoters of the villainy. And after
+all there is an element of grotesque comedy
+about the character of Aldermen in a
+large American city. The indecency of
+the situation is so unblushing, and the
+public is so helpless, that the performers
+remind one in their good-natured antics
+of the thieves in "Fra Diavolo;" they get
+bolder and bolder and now barely take
+the trouble to wear the mask of respectability.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Have I written "thieves?" Patriotic
+Americans look askance at such full-blooded
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_367' name='Page_367' href='#Page_367'>367</a></span>
+expressions. They prefer ambiguity,
+and a less harsh phraseology—"slight
+irregularities," "business misfortunes,"
+"commercial usages," "professional
+services," "campaign expenses,"
+"lack of fine sensibilities," "unauthenticated
+rumors." There are fifty ways of
+letting one's fellow-citizens down easily in
+the public prints and in private conversation.
+This is a charitable age, and the
+word thief has become unfamiliar, except
+as applied to rogues who enter houses as
+a trade. The community and the newspapers
+are chary of applying it to folk
+who steal covertly but steadily and largely
+as an increment of municipal office. It
+is inconvenient to hurt the feelings of public
+servants, especially when one may have
+voted for them from carelessness or ignorance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here is a list of the twelve low comedians
+for your inspection:
+</p>
+
+<ul class="idx">
+<li>Peter Lynch, no occupation,</li>
+<li>James Griffin, stevedore,</li>
+<li>William H. Bird, real estate,</li>
+<li>John S. Maloney, saloon-keeper,</li>
+<li>David H. Barker, carpenter,</li>
+<li>Jeremiah Dolan, no occupation,</li>
+<li>Patrick K. Higgins, junk dealer,</li>
+<li>Joseph Heffernan, liquors,</li>
+<li>William T. Moore, apothecary,</li>
+<li>James O. Frost, paints and oils,</li>
+<li>Michael O'Rourke, tailor,</li>
+<li>John P. Driscoll, lawyer.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>
+You will be surprised by my first statement
+regarding them, I dare say. Four
+of them, Peter Lynch, James Griffin, Jeremiah
+Dolan, and Michael O'Rourke neither
+drink nor smoke. Jeremiah Dolan
+chews, but the three others do not use
+tobacco in any form. They are patterns
+of Sunday-school virtue in these respects.
+This was a very surprising discovery to
+one of the minor characters in our drama—to
+two of them in fact—Mr. Arthur
+Langdon Waterhouse and his father,
+James Langdon Waterhouse, Esq. The
+young man, who had just returned from
+Europe with the idea of becoming United
+States Senator and who expressed a willingness
+to serve as a Reform Alderman
+while waiting, announced the discovery
+to his parent shortly before election with
+a mystified air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know," said he to the old
+gentleman, who, by the way, though he
+has denounced every person and every
+measure in connection with our politics
+for forty years, was secretly pleased at his
+son's senatorial aspirations, "do you know
+that someone told me to-day that four of
+the very worst of those fellows have never
+drunk a drop of liquor, nor smoked a
+pipe of tobacco in their lives. Isn't it a
+curious circumstance? I supposed they
+were intoxicated most of the time."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You will notice also that Peter Lynch
+and Jeremiah Dolan have no occupation.
+Each of them has been connected in some
+capacity with the City Government for
+nearly twenty years, and they are persons
+of great experience. They have more
+than once near election time been amiably
+referred to in the press as "valuable
+public servants," and it must be admitted
+that they are efficient in their way. Certainly,
+they know the red tape of City
+Hall from A to Z, and understand how
+to block or forward any measure. The
+salary of Alderman is not large—certainly
+not large enough to satisfy indefinitely
+such capable men as they, and yet they
+continue to appear year after year at the
+same old stand. Moreover, they resist
+vigorously every effort to dislodge them,
+whether proceeding from political opponents
+or envious rivals of their own
+party. A philosopher like myself, who is,
+politically speaking, a worm, is expected
+to believe that valuable public servants
+retain office for the honor of the thing;
+but even a philosopher becomes suspicious
+of a patriot who has no occupation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next in importance are Hon. William
+H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll. It
+is a well-known axiom of popular government
+that citizens are called from the
+plough or counting-room to public office
+by the urgent request of their friends and
+neighbors. As a fact, this takes place two
+or three times in a century. Most aspirants
+for office go through the form of having
+a letter from their friends and neighbors
+published in the newspapers, but only
+the very guileless portion of the public
+do not understand that the candidates in
+these cases suggest themselves. It is
+sometimes done, delicately, as, for instance,
+in the case of young Arthur Langdon
+Waterhouse, of whom I was writing just
+now. He let a close friend intimate to
+the ward committee that he would like to
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_368' name='Page_368' href='#Page_368'>368</a></span>
+run for Alderman, and that in consideration
+thereof his father would be willing
+to subscribe $2,000 to the party campaign
+fund. It seems to a philosopher that a
+patriotic people should either re-edit its
+political axioms or live up to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now Hon. William H. Bird and Hon.
+John P. Driscoll never go through the
+ceremony of being called from the plough—in
+their case the ward bar-room. They
+announce six months in advance that they
+wish something, and they state clearly
+what. They are perpetual candidates for,
+or incumbents of, office, and to be elected
+or defeated annually costs each of them
+from two to four thousand dollars, according
+to circumstances. One of them has
+been in the Assembly, the Governor's
+Council, and in both branches of the
+City Government; the other a member
+of the Assembly, a State Senator, and an
+Alderman, and both of them are now glad
+to be Aldermen once more after a desperate
+Kilkenny contest for the nomination.
+They are called Honorable by the reporters;
+and philosophers and other students
+of newspapers are constantly informed
+that Hon. William H. Bird has done this,
+and Hon. John P. Driscoll said that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These four are the big men of the
+Board. The others are smaller fry; ambitious
+and imitative, but less experienced
+and smooth and audacious. Yet the four
+have their virtues, too. It is safe to state
+that no one of them would take anything
+beyond his reach. Moreover, if you,
+a patriot, or I, a philosopher, were to
+find himself alone in a room with one of
+them and had five thousand dollars in
+bills in his pocket and the fact were known
+to him, he would make no effort to possess
+himself of the money. We should be
+absolutely safe from assault or sleight of
+hand. Whoever would maintain the opposite
+does not appreciate the honesty of
+the American people. If, on the other
+hand, under similar circumstances, the
+right man were to place an envelope containing
+one thousand dollars in bills on
+the table and saunter to the window to admire
+the view, the packet would disappear
+before he returned to his seat and neither
+party would be able to remember that it
+ever was there. I do not intend to intimate
+that this is the precise method of
+procedure; I am merely explaining that
+our comedians have not the harsh habits
+of old-fashioned highwaymen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then again, there are people so fatuous
+as to believe that Aldermen are accustomed
+to help themselves out of the city
+treasury. That is a foolish fiction, for no
+Alderman could. The City Hall is too
+bulky to remove, and all appropriations
+of the public money are made by draft
+and have to be accounted for. If any
+member of the Board were to make a descent
+on the funds in the safe, he would
+be arrested as a lunatic and sent to an insane
+asylum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for the other eight low comedians, it
+happens in this particular drama that I
+would be unwilling to make an affidavit
+as to the absolute integrity of any one of
+them. But there are apt to be two or even
+three completely honest members of these
+august bodies, and two or three more who
+are pretty honest. A pretty honest Alderman
+is like a pretty good egg. A pretty
+honest Alderman would be incapable of
+touching an envelope containing $1,000,
+or charging one hundred in return for his
+support to a petition for a bay-window;
+but if he were in the paint and oil business
+or the lumber trade, or interested in hay
+and oats, it would be safe to assume that
+any department of the City Government
+which did not give his firm directly or indirectly
+a part of its trade would receive
+no aldermanic favors at his hands. Then
+again, a pretty honest Alderman would
+allow a friend to sell a spavined horse to
+the city.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+II
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Having hinted gently at the leading
+characteristics of the twelve low comedians,
+I am ready now to make you acquainted
+with the twenty leading villains. There
+is something grimly humorous in the spectacle
+of a dozen genial, able-bodied, non-alcoholic
+ruffians levying tribute on a community
+too self-absorbed or too easy-going
+or too indifferent to rid itself of them. I
+find, on the other hand, something somewhat
+pathetic in the spectacle of twenty
+otherwise reputable citizens and capitalists
+driven to villainy by the force of circumstances.
+To be a villain against one's will
+is an unnatural and pitiable situation.
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_369' name='Page_369' href='#Page_369'>369</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here is the list:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thomas Barnstable, President of the
+People's Heat and Power Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+William B. Wilcox, General Manager
+of the North Circuit Traction Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+David J. Prendergast, Treasurer of the
+Underground Steam Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Porter King, President of the South
+Valley Railroad Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+James Plugh, Treasurer of the Star
+Brewing Concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ex-State Treasurer George Delaney
+Johnson, Manager of the United Gas
+Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Willis O. Golightly, Treasurer of the
+Consolidated Electric Works.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hon. Samuel Phipps, President of the
+Sparkling Reservoir Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+P. Ashton Hall, President of the Rapid
+Despatch Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ex-Congressman Henry B. Pullen,
+Manager of the Maguinnis Engine Works.
+And so on. I will not weary you with
+a complete category. It would contain
+the names of twelve other gentlemen no
+less prominent in connection with quasi-public
+and large private business corporations.
+With them should be associated
+one thousand easy-going second-class villains,
+whose names are not requisite to my
+argument, but who from one year to another
+are obliged, by the exigencies of
+business or enterprise, to ask for licenses
+from the non-alcoholic, genial comedians,
+for permission to build a stable, to erect
+a bay-window, to peddle goods in the
+streets, to maintain a coal-hole, to drain
+into a sewer, to lay wires underground;
+in short, to do one or another of the many
+everyday things which can be done only
+by permission of the City Government.
+And the pity of it is that they all would
+rather not be villains.
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+(<i>Note.</i>—At the suggestion of Josephine
+I here enter a caveat for my and her protection.
+While I was enumerating the
+list of low comedians she interrupted me
+to ask if I did not fear lest one of them
+might sand-bag me some dark night on
+account of wounded sensibilities. She
+laughed, but I saw she was a little nervous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have mentioned no real names,"
+said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is true," she said, "but somehow
+I feel that the real ones might be suspicious
+that they were meant."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told her that this was their lookout,
+and that, besides, they were much too
+secure in the successful performance of
+their comedy to go out of their way to assassinate
+a philosopher. "They would
+say, Josephine, that a philosopher cuts no
+ice, which is true, and is moreover a serious
+stigma to fasten on any patriotic man
+or woman." But now again she has
+brought me to book on the score of the
+feelings of the leading villains. She appreciates
+that we are on terms of considerable
+friendliness with some Presidents of
+corporations, and that though my list contains
+no real names, I may give offence.
+Perhaps she fears a sort of social boycott.
+Let me satisfy her scruples and do justice
+at the same time by admitting that not
+every President of a quasi-public corporation
+is a leading villain. Nor every Alderman
+a low comedian. That will let out
+all my friends. But, on the other hand, I
+ask the attention even of my friends to
+the predicament of Thomas Barnstable,
+President of the People's Heat and Power
+Company.)
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Thomas Barnstable, the leading villain
+whose case I select for detailed presentation,
+has none of the coarser proclivities
+of David J. Prendergast, Treasurer of the
+Underground Steam Company. As regards
+David J. Prendergast, I could almost
+retract my allegation of pity and assert
+that he is a villain by premeditation and
+without compunction. That is, his method
+of dealing with the twelve low comedians
+is, I am told, conducted on a cold utilitarian
+basis without struggle of conscience
+or effort at self-justification. He says to
+the modern highwaymen, "Fix your price
+and let my bill pass. My time is valuable
+and so is yours, and the quicker we come
+to terms, the better for us both." What
+he says behind their backs is not fit for
+publication; but he recognizes the existence
+of the tax just as he recognizes the
+existence of the tariff, and he has no time
+to waste in considering the effect of either
+on the higher destinies of the nation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thomas Barnstable belongs to another
+school. He is a successful business man.
+In the ordinary meaning of the phrase,
+he is also a gentleman and a scholar. His
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_370' name='Page_370' href='#Page_370'>370</a></span>
+word in private and in business life is as
+good as his bond; he respects the rights
+of the fatherless and the widow, and he is
+known favorably in philanthropic and religious
+circles. Having recognized the
+value of certain patents, he has become a
+large owner of the stock of the People's
+Heat and Power Company, and is the
+President of the corporation. Hitherto
+he has had plain sailing, municipally speaking.
+That is, the original franchise of the
+company was obtained from the city before
+he became President, and only this
+year for the first time has the necessity
+of asking for further privileges arisen.
+Moreover, he finds his corporation confronted
+by a rival, the Underground Steam
+Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now here is a portion of the dialogue
+which took place five weeks before election
+between this highly respectable gentleman
+and his right-hand man, Mr. John
+Dowling, the efficient practical manager
+of the People's Company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Peter Lynch was here to-day," said
+Mr. Dowling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And who may Peter Lynch be?"
+was the dignified but unconcerned answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Peter Lynch is Peter Lynch. Don't
+you know Peter? He's the Alderman
+from the fifth district. He has been Alderman
+for ten years, and so far as I can
+see, he is likely to continue to be Alderman
+for ten more."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Peter was in good-humor. He was
+smiling all over."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Dowling paused, so his superior
+said, "Oh!" Then realizing that the
+manager was still silent, as though expecting
+a question, he said, "What did he
+come for?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He wishes us to help him mend his
+fences. Some of them need repairing.
+The wear and tear of political life is
+severe."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I see—I see," responded Mr. Barnstable,
+reflectively, putting his finger-tips
+together. "What sort of a man is Peter?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Dowling hesitated a moment, merely
+because he was uncertain how to deal
+with such innocence. Having concluded
+that frankness was the most businesslike
+course, he answered, bluffly, "He's an
+infernal thief. He's out for the stuff."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The stuff? I see—I see. Very bad, very
+bad. It's an outrage that under our free
+form of government such men should get
+a foothold in our cities. I hope, Dowling,
+you gave him the cold shoulder, and let
+him understand that under no consideration
+whatever would we contribute one
+dollar to his support."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"On the contrary, I gave him a cigar
+and pumped him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pumped him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wanted to find out what he knows."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear me. And—er—what does he
+know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He knows all about our bill, and he
+says he'd like to support it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a shock, for the bill was supposed
+to be a secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did he find out about it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dreamt it in his sleep, I guess."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't care for his support, I won't
+have it," said Mr. Barnstable, bringing
+his hand down forcibly on his desk to
+show his earnestness and indignation. "I
+wish very much, Mr. Dowling, that you
+had told him to leave the office and never
+show his impudent face here again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a brief silence, during which
+Mr. Dowling fingered his watch-chain;
+then he said, in a quiet tone, "He says
+that the Underground Steam Company is
+going to move heaven and earth to elect
+men who will vote to give them a location."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I trust you let him know that the
+Underground Steam Company is a stock
+jobbing, disreputable concern with no
+financial status."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It wasn't necessary for me to tell him
+that. He knows it. He said he would
+prefer to side with us and keep them out
+of the streets, which meant of course that
+he knew we were able to pay the most
+if we chose. It seems Prendergast has
+been at him already."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Disgusting! They both ought to be
+in jail."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Amen. He says he gave Prendergast
+an evasive answer, and is to see him again
+next Tuesday. There's the situation, Mr.
+Barnstable. I tell you frankly that Lynch
+is an important man to keep friendly to
+our interests. He is very smart and well
+posted, and if we allow him to oppose us,
+we shall have no end of trouble. He is
+ready to take the ground that the streets
+ought not be dug up, and that a respectable
+corporation like ours should not be
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_371' name='Page_371' href='#Page_371'>371</a></span>
+interfered with. Only he expects to be
+looked after in return. I deplore the condition
+of affairs as much as you do, but I
+tell you frankly that he is certain to go
+over to the other side and oppose us tooth
+and nail unless we show ourselves what he
+calls friendly to his 'interests.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then we'll prevent his election. I
+would subscribe money toward that myself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Manager coughed, by way perhaps
+of concealing a smile. "That would not
+be easy," he said. "And if it could be
+done, how should we be better off? Peter
+Lynch is only one of fifteen or twenty,
+many of whom are worse than he. By
+worse I mean equally unscrupulous and
+less efficient. Here, Mr. Barnstable, is a
+list of the candidates for Aldermen on both
+sides. I have been carefully over it and
+checked off the names of those most likely
+to be chosen, and I find that it comprises
+twelve out-and-out thieves, five sneak-thieves,
+as I call them, because they pilfer
+only in a small way and pass as pretty honest;
+four easy-going, broken-winded incapables,
+and three perfectly honest men,
+one of them thoroughly stupid. Now, if
+we have to deal with thieves, it is desirable
+to deal with those most likely to be of real
+service. There are four men on this list
+who can, if they choose, help us or hurt us
+materially. If we get them, they will be
+able to swing enough votes to control the
+situation; if they're against us, our bill will
+be side-tracked or defeated and the Underground
+Steam Company will get its
+franchise. That means, as you know,
+serious injury to our stockholders. There's
+the case in a nut-shell."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What are their names?" asked Mr.
+Barnstable, faintly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Peter Lynch, Jeremiah Dolan, William
+H. Bird, and John P. Driscoll, popularly
+known in the inner circles of City
+Hall politics as 'the big four.' And they
+are—four of the biggest thieves in the
+community."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear me," said Mr. Barnstable. "And
+what is it you advise doing?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Like the coon in the tree, I should say,
+'Don't shoot and I'll come down.' It's
+best to have a clear understanding from
+the start."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What I meant to ask was—er—what
+is it that this Peter Lynch wishes?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He uttered nothing but glittering generalities;
+that he desired to know who his
+friends were, and whether, in case he were
+elected, he could be of any service to our
+corporation. The English of that is, he
+expects in the first place a liberal subscription
+for campaign expenses—and after that
+retaining fees from time to time as our attorney
+or agent, which will vary in size according
+to the value of the services rendered."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A faint gleam of cunning hope appeared
+in Mr. Barnstable's eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then anything we—er—contributed
+could properly be charged to attorney's
+fees?" he said by way of thinking aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly—attorney's fees, services
+as agent, profit and loss, extraordinary expenses,
+machinery account, bad debts—there
+are a dozen ways of explaining the
+outlay. And no outlay may be necessary.
+A tip on the stock will do just as well."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear, dear," reiterated Mr. Barnstable.
+"It's a deplorable situation; deplorable
+and very awkward."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And the awkward part is, that we're a
+dead cock in the pit if we incline to virtue's
+side."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Barnstable sighed deeply and
+drummed on his desk. Then he began to
+walk up and down. After a few moments
+he stopped short and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall have to lay it before my directors,
+Dowling."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly, sir. But in general terms,
+I hope. A single—er—impractical man
+might block the situation until it was too
+late. Then the expense of remedying the
+blunder might be much greater."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Barnstable inclined his head gravely.
+"I shall consult some of the wisest heads
+on the Board, and if in their opinion it is
+advisable to conciliate these blackmailers,
+a formal expression of approval will scarcely
+be necessary."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few days later the President sent for
+the Manager and waved him to a chair.
+His expression was grave—almost sad, yet
+resolute. His manner was dignified and
+cold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have considered," said he, "the
+matter of which we were speaking recently,
+and under the peculiar circumstances in
+which we are placed, and in view of the
+fact that the success of our bill and the defeat
+of the Underground Steam Company
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_372' name='Page_372' href='#Page_372'>372</a></span>
+is necessary for the protection of the best
+interests of the public and the facilitation
+of honest corporate business enterprise, I
+am empowered to authorize you to take
+such steps, Mr. Dowling, as seem to you
+desirable and requisite for the proper protection
+of our interests."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very good, sir. That is all that is
+necessary."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a brief silence, during which
+Mr. Barnstable joined his finger-tips together
+and looked at the fire. Then he
+rose augustly, and putting out his hand
+with a repellant gesture said, "There is
+one thing I insist on, which is that I shall
+know nothing of the details of this disagreeable
+business. I leave the matter
+wholly in your hands, Dowling."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, certainly, sir. And you may rely
+on my giving the cold shoulder to the rascals
+wherever it is possible for me to do
+so."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That is a pitiful story, isn't it? Virtue
+assaulted almost in its very temple, and
+given a black eye by sheer force of cruel,
+overwhelming circumstances. Yet a true
+story, and the prototype in its general
+features of a host of similar episodes occurring
+in the different cities of this land
+of the free and the home of the brave.
+Each case, of course, has its peculiar atmosphere.
+Not every leading villain has
+the sensitive and combative conscience of
+Thomas Barnstable; nor every general
+manager the bold, frank style of Mr.
+Dowling. There is every phase of soul-struggle
+and method from unblushing,
+business-like bargain and sale to sphinx-like
+and purposely unenlightened and ostrich-like
+submission. In the piteous language
+of a defender of Thomas Barnstable
+(not Josephine), what can one do but
+submit? If one meets a highwayman on
+the road, is one to be turned back if a
+purse will secure a passage? Surely not
+if the journey be of moment. Then is a
+corporate body (a corporation has no soul)
+to be starved to death by delay and hostile
+legislation if peace and plenty are to
+be had for an attorney's fee? If so, only
+the rascals would thrive and honest corporations
+would bite the dust. And so it
+happened that Mr. Dowling before election
+cast his moral influence in favor of
+the big four, and a little bird flew from
+head-quarters with a secret message,
+couched in sufficiently vague language, to
+the effect that the management would be
+pleased if the employees of the People's
+Heat and Power Company were to mark
+crosses on their Australian ballots against
+the names of Peter Lynch, Jeremiah Dolan,
+Hon. William H. Bird, and the Hon.
+John P. Driscoll.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Let us allow the curtain to descend to
+slow music, and after a brief pause rise
+on some of our other characters. Behold
+now the fifty thousand respectable, well-intentioned,
+tolerably ignorant citizens
+who vote but are too busy with their own
+affairs to pay attention to politics, and as
+a consequence generally vote the party
+ticket or vote to please a friend. As a
+sample take Mr. John Baker, amiable and
+well-meaning physician, a practical philanthropist
+and an intelligent student of
+science by virtue of his active daily
+professional labors. For a week before
+election he is apt to have a distressing,
+soul-haunting consciousness that a City
+Government is shortly to be chosen and
+that he must, as a free-born and virtue-loving
+citizen, vote for somebody. He remembers
+that during the year there has been
+more or less agitation in the newspapers
+concerning this or that individual connected
+with the aldermanic office, but he
+has forgotten names and is all at sea as to
+who is who or what is what. Two days
+before election he receives and puts aside
+a circular containing a list of the most desirable
+candidates, as indicated by the
+Reform Society, intending to peruse it,
+but he is called from home on one evening
+by professional demands, and on the
+other by tickets for the theatre, so election
+morning arrives without his having
+looked at it. He forgets that it is election
+day, and is reminded of the fact while on
+his way to visit his patients by noticing
+that many of his acquaintances seem to be
+walking in the wrong direction. He turns
+also, at the spur of memory, and mournfully
+realizes that he has left the list at
+home. To return would spoil his professional
+day, so he proceeds to the polls,
+and, in the hope of wise enlightenment,
+joins the first sagacious friend he encounters.
+It happens, perhaps, to be Dowling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah," says Dr. Baker, genially, "you're
+just the man to tell me whom to vote for.
+One vote doesn't count for much, but I
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_373' name='Page_373' href='#Page_373'>373</a></span>
+like to do my duty as an American citizen."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a pretty poor list," says Dowling,
+pathetically, drawing a paper from his
+pocket. "I believe, however, in accomplishing
+the best possible results under
+existing circumstances. If I thought the
+Reform candidates could be elected, I
+would vote for them and for them only;
+but it's equally important that the very
+worst men should be kept out. I am
+going to vote for the Reform candidates
+and for Lynch, Dolan, Bird, and Driscoll.
+They're capable and they have had experience.
+If they steal, they'll steal judiciously,
+and that is something. Some
+of those other fellows would steal the
+lamp-posts and hydrants if they got the
+chance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right," says Dr. Baker. "I'll take
+your word for it. Let me write those
+names down. I suppose that some day
+or other we shall get a decent City Government.
+I admit that I don't give as
+much consideration to such matters as I
+ought, but the days are only twenty-four
+hours long."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then from the same company there is
+Mr. David Jones, hay and grain dealer,
+honest and a diligent, reputable business
+man. He harbors the amiable delusion
+that the free-born American citizen in the
+exercise of the suffrage has intuitive knowledge
+as to whom to vote for, and that in
+the long run the choice of the sovereign
+people is wise and satisfactory. He is
+ready to admit that political considerations
+should not control selection for municipal
+office, but he has a latent distrust
+of reformers as aristocratic self-seekers or
+enemies of popular government. For instance,
+the idea that he or any other
+American citizen of ordinary education
+and good moral character is not fit to
+serve on the school committee offends his
+patriotism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the matter with Lynch, anyway?"
+he asks on his way to the polls.
+"I see some of his political enemies are
+attacking him in the press. If he were
+crooked, someone would have found it
+out in ten years. I met him once and he
+talked well. He has no frills round his
+neck."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nor wheels in his head," answers a
+fellow-patriot, who wishes to get a street
+developed and has put his case in Lynch's
+hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He shall have my vote," says the hay
+and grain dealer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for the twenty-five thousand hide-bound
+partisans, I will state to begin with,
+my optimistic correspondent, that if this
+drama were concerned with any election
+but a city election, their number would be
+larger. But these make up in unswerving
+fixity of purpose for any diminution
+of their forces due to municipal considerations.
+They are content to have their thinking
+done for them in advance by a packed
+caucus, and they go to the polls snorting
+like war-horses and eager to vindicate
+by their ballots the party choice of candidates,
+or meekly and reverently prepared
+to make a criss-cross after every R or D,
+according to their faith, with the fatuous
+fealty of sheep. Bigotry and suspicions,
+ignorance and easy-going willingness to
+be led, keep their phalanx steady and a
+constant old guard for the protection of
+comedians and villains.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In another corner of the stage stand
+the ten thousand superior, self-centred
+souls who neglect to vote and despise
+politics—the mixed corps of pessimists,
+impractical dreamers, careless idlers, and
+hyper-cultured world-disdainers, who hold
+aloof, from one motive or another, from
+contact with common life and a share in
+its responsibilities—some on the plea that
+universal suffrage is a folly or a failure,
+some that earth is but a vale of travail
+which concerns little the wise or righteous
+thinker, some from sheer butterfly or
+stupid idleness. Were they to vote they
+would help to offset that no less large
+body of suffragists—the active enemies
+of order, the hoodlum, tobacco-spitting,
+woman-insulting, rum-drinking ruffian brigade.
+There are only left the ten thousand
+conscientious citizens, real patriots—a
+corporal's guard, amid the general optimistic
+sweep toward the polls. These
+mark their crosses with care against the
+names of the honest men and perhaps
+some of the pretty honest, only to read in
+the newspapers next morning that the big
+four have been returned to power and that
+the confidence of the plain and sovereign
+people in the disinterested conduct of their
+public servants has again been demonstrated.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_374' name='Page_374' href='#Page_374'>374</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ho, ho, ho," laugh the low comedians.
+"Mum's the word." The faces of
+the big four are wreathed in self-congratulatory
+smiles. At the homes of Peter
+Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan, those experienced
+individuals without occupation,
+there are cakes and ale. It is a mistake
+to assume that because a citizen is an Alderman
+he is not human and amiably
+domestic in his tastes. Jeremiah loves
+the little Dolans and is no less fond of
+riding his children on his leg than Thomas
+Barnstable, or any of the leading villains.
+When their father looks happy in the late
+autumn, the children know that their
+Christmas stockings will be full. Jeremiah
+is at peace with all the world and is ready
+to sit with slicked hair for his photograph,
+from which a steel (or is it steal?) engraving
+will shortly be prepared for the new
+City Government year-book, superscribed:
+"Jeremiah Dolan, Chairman of the Board
+of Aldermen." A framed enlargement of
+this will hang on one side of the fire-place,
+and an embroidered motto, "God Bless
+Our Home," on the other, and all will be
+well with the Dolans for another twelve
+months. In his own home Jeremiah is a
+man of few words on public matters. Not
+unnaturally his children believe him to be
+of the salt of the earth, and he lets it go
+at that, attending strictly to business without
+seeking to defend himself in the bosom
+of his family from the diatribes of reformers.
+Still, it is reasonable to assume that,
+under the fillip of the large majority rolled
+up in his favor, he would be liable to give
+vent to his sense of humor so far as to refer,
+in the presence of his wife and children,
+to the young man who was willing to
+become an Alderman while waiting to be
+Senator, as a T. Willy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If you have read "The Hon. Peter
+Stirling," you will remember that the hero
+rose to political stature largely by means
+of attending to the needs of the district,
+befriending the poor and the helpless, and
+having a friendly, encouraging word for
+his constituents, high or low. The American
+public welcomed the book because it
+was glad to see the boss vindicated by
+these human qualities, and to think that
+there was a saving grace of unselfish service
+in the composition of the average
+successful politician. It would be unjust
+to the big four were I not to acknowledge
+that they have been shrewd or human
+enough to pursue in some measure this
+affable policy, and that the neighborhood
+and the district in which they live recognize
+them as hustlers to obtain office,
+privileges, and jobs for the humble citizen
+wishing to be employed by or to sell something
+to the City Government. To this
+constituency the comparative small tax
+levied seems all in the day's work, a natural
+incident of the principle that when a
+man does something, he ought to be paid
+for it. To them the distinction that public
+service is a trust which has no right to
+pecuniary profit beyond the salary attached,
+and a reasonable amount of stationery,
+seems to savor of the millennium
+and to suggest a lack of practical intelligence
+on the part of its advocates. They
+pay the lawyer and the doctor; why not
+the Alderman?
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+III
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I am reminded by Josephine that I
+seem to be getting into the dumps, which
+does not befit one who claims to be an
+optimistic philosopher. The drama just
+set before you is not, I admit, encouraging
+as a national exhibit, and I can imagine
+that you are already impatient to retort
+that the municipal stage is no fair criterion
+of public life in this country. I can hear
+you assert, with that confident air of national
+righteousness peculiar to the class
+of blind patriots to which you belong, that
+the leading politicians of the nation disdain
+to soil their hands by contact with
+city politics. Yet there I take issue with
+you squarely, not as to the fact but as to
+the truth of the lofty postulate seething
+in your mind that the higher planes of
+political activity are free from the venal
+and debasing characteristics of municipal
+public service—from the influence of the
+money power operating on a low public
+standard of honesty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Most of us—even philosophers like myself—try
+to cling to the fine theory that
+the legislators of the country represent the
+best morals and brains of the community,
+and that the men elected to public office
+in the Councils of the land have been put
+forward as being peculiarly fitted to interpret
+and provide for our needs, by
+force of their predominant individual virtues
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_375' name='Page_375' href='#Page_375'>375</a></span>
+and abilities. Most of us appreciate
+in our secret souls that this theory is not
+lived up to, and is available only for Fourth
+of July or other rhetorical purposes. Yet
+we dislike to dismiss the ideal as unattainable,
+even though we know that actual
+practice is remote from it; and patriots
+still, we go on asserting that this is our
+method of choice, vaguely hoping, like
+the well-intentioned but careless voter,
+that some day we shall get a decent government,
+municipal, state, national—that
+is decent from the stand-point of our democratic
+ideal. And there is another theory,
+part and parcel of the other, which we
+try to cling to at the same time, that our
+public representatives, though the obviously
+ornamental and fine specimens of
+their several constituencies, are after all
+only every-day Americans with whom a
+host of citizens could change places without
+disparagement to either. In other
+words, our theory of government is government
+by the average, and that the
+average is remarkably high. This comfortable
+view induces many like yourself
+to wrap themselves round with the American
+flag and smile at destiny, sure that
+everything will result well with us sooner
+or later, and impatient of criticism or
+doubts. As a people we delight in patting
+ourselves on the back and dismissing
+our worries as mere flea-bites. The hard
+cider of our patriotism gets readily into
+the brain and causes us to deny fiercely or
+serenely, according to our dispositions,
+that anything serious is the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet whatever Fourth of July orators
+may say to the contrary, the fact remains
+that the sorry taint of bargain and sale, of
+holding up on the political highway and
+pacification by bribery in one form or another,
+permeates to-day the whole of our
+political system from the lowest stratum
+of municipal public life to the Councils
+which make Presidents and United States
+Senators. To be sure, the Alderman in his
+capacity of low comedian dictating terms
+to corporations seeking civic privileges is
+the most unblushing, and hence the most
+obviously flagrant case; but it is well recognized
+by all who are brought in contact
+with legislative bodies of any sort in
+the country that either directly or indirectly
+the machinery of public life is controlled
+by aggregations of capital working on the
+hungry, easy-going, or readily flattered
+susceptibilities of a considerable percentage
+of the members. Certainly our national
+and State assemblies contain many high-minded,
+honest, intellectually capable men,
+but they contain as many more who are
+either dishonest or are so ignorant and
+easily cajoled that they permit themselves
+to be the tools of leading villains. Those
+cognizant of what goes on behind the
+scenes on the political stage would perhaps
+deny that such men as our friend
+Thomas Barnstable or his agent, Dowling,
+attempt to dictate nominations to either
+branch of the legislature on the tacit understanding
+that a member thus supported
+is to advocate or vote for their measures,
+and by their denial they might deceive a real
+simon-pure philosopher. But this philosopher
+knows better, and so do you, my optimistic
+friend. It is the fashion, I am aware,
+among conservative people, lawyers looking
+for employment, bankers and solid men
+of affairs, to put the finger on the lips when
+this evil is broached and whisper, "Hush!"
+They admit confidentially the truth of it, but
+they say, "Hush! What's the use of stirring
+things up? It can't do any good and it
+makes the public discontented. It excites
+the populists." So there is perpetual mystery
+and the game goes on. Men who wish
+things good or bad come reluctantly or
+willingly to the conclusion that the only
+way to get them is by paying for them.
+Not all pay cash. Some obtain that which
+they desire by working on the weaknesses
+of legislators; following them into banks
+where they borrow money, getting people
+who hold them in their employ or give
+them business to interfere, asking influential
+friends to press them. Every railroad
+corporation in the country has agents
+to look after its affairs before the legislature
+of the State through which it operates,
+and what some of those agents have said
+and done in order to avert molestation
+would, if published, be among the most
+interesting memoirs ever written. Who
+doubts that elections to the United States
+Senate and House of Representatives are
+constantly secured by the use of money
+among those who have the power to bestow
+nominations and influence votes? It
+is notorious, yet to prove it would be no
+less difficult than to prove that Peter Lynch,
+Alderman for ten years without occupation,
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_376' name='Page_376' href='#Page_376'>376</a></span>
+has received bribes from his fellow-citizens.
+How are the vast sums of money levied
+on rich men to secure the success of a political
+party in a Presidential campaign expended?
+For stationery, postage stamps,
+and campaign documents? For torchlight
+processions, rallies, and buttons?
+Some of it, certainly. The unwritten inside
+history of the political progress of many
+of the favorite sons of the nation during
+the last forty years would make the scale
+of public honor kick the beam though it
+were weighted with the cherry-tree and
+hatchet of George Washington. In one
+of our cities where a deputation of city
+officials attended the funeral of a hero of
+the late war with Spain, there is a record
+of $400 spent for ice-cream. Presumably
+this was a transcript of petty thievery inartistically
+audited. But there are no
+auditings of the real use of the thousands
+of dollars contributed to keep a party in
+power or to secure the triumph of a politically
+ambitious millionaire.
+</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+(<i>Note.</i>—Josephine, who had been sitting
+lost in thought since the conclusion of the
+drama, and who is fond of problem plays,
+inquired at this point whether I consider
+the low comedians or the leading villains
+the most to blame for the existing state of
+things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is a pertinent question, Josephine,
+and one not easily answered. What is
+your view of the matter?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose," she answered, "as you
+have termed the bribers the leading villains,
+they are the worst. And I do think that
+the temptation must be very great among
+the class of men who are without fine sensibilities
+to let themselves become the tools
+of rich and powerful people, who, as you
+have indicated, can help them immensely
+in return for a vote. It is astonishing that
+those in the community who are educated,
+well-to-do citizens, should commit such sins
+against decency and patriotism."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, it seems astonishing, but their
+plea is pathetic, as I have already stated,
+and somewhat plausible. Suppose for a
+minute that I am Thomas Barnstable defending
+himself and see how eloquent I
+can be. 'What would you have me do,
+Madam? I am an honest man and my
+directors are honest men; the bills we ask
+for are always just and reasonable. I have
+never in my life approached a legislator
+with an improper offer, nor have I used direct
+or indirect bribery so long as it was
+absolutely impossible to avoid doing so.
+But when a gang of cheap and cunning
+tricksters block the passage of my corporation's
+measures, and will not let them become
+law until we have been bled, I yield
+as a last resort. We are at their mercy. It
+is a detestable thing to do, I admit, but it
+is necessary if we are to remain in business.
+There is no alternative. The responsibility
+is on the dishonest and incapable
+men whom the American public elects to
+office, and who under the specious plea
+of protecting the rights of the plain people
+levy blackmail on corporate interests.
+Corporations do not wish to bribe, but
+they are forced to do so in self-defence.'
+There! Is not that a tear-compelling
+statement?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can see your side," said Josephine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pardon me," I interrupted. "It is
+Mr. Barnstable's side, not mine. I am not
+a capitalist, only a philosopher."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, his side then; and I feel sorry
+for him in spite of the weakness of his case.
+Only his argument does not explain the
+others. I should not suppose that men like
+Mr. Prendergast could truthfully declare
+that all the legislation they ask for is just
+and reasonable."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Precisely. Yet they buy their desires
+in the open market from the free-born representatives
+of the people. If anyone
+states so at the time he is hushed up, if
+possible; if not, there is an investigation,
+nothing is proved, and the integrity of the
+legislative body is vindicated. I can shed
+a tear on behalf of men like Mr. Barnstable,
+a crocodile tear, yet still a tear.
+But there is the larger army of hard-headed,
+dollar-hunting, practical capitalists, who
+are not forming corporations for their
+health, so to speak, to be reckoned with.
+My eloquence is palsied by them. They
+would tell you that they were obliged to
+bribe, but they do not waste much time
+in resistance or remorse. They seem to
+regard the evil as a national custom, unfortunate
+and expensive, but not altogether
+inconvenient. Confidentially over a cigar
+they will assure you that the French, the
+Spanish, the Turks, and the Chinese are infinitely
+worse, and that this is merely a passing
+phase of democracy, whatever that may
+mean."
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_377' name='Page_377' href='#Page_377'>377</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dreadful," said Josephine. "And then
+there are the people with money who aid
+and abet their own nominations for Congress.
+I think I could mention some of
+them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you mustn't. It might hurt their
+feelings, for they may not know exactly
+what was done except in a general way.
+After all is over they ask 'how much?'
+draw a check and make few inquiries.
+That is the genteel way. But in some states
+it is not necessary or politic to be genteel.
+The principle is the same, but the process
+is less subtle and aristocratic. But haven't
+you a word of extenuation to offer on behalf
+of the low comedians? Think of
+Jeremiah Dolan and the little Dolans."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose he also would say it wasn't
+true," said Josephine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes. 'Lady, there isn't a word
+of truth in the whole story. Someone's
+been stuffing you.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They must be dreadfully tempted, poor
+wretches."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Lady, it's all make-believe. But it's
+one thing to talk and another to sit still and
+have a fellow whisper in your ear that you
+have only to vote his way to get five thousand
+in clean bills and no questions asked.
+When a man has a mortgage on his house
+to pay, five thousand would come in
+handy. I'm only supposing, lady, and no
+one can prove I took a cent.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Fred," said Josephine, after a solemn
+pause, "the dreadful thought has just
+occurred to me that the American people
+may not be—are not strictly honest."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sh!" I shouted eagerly, and seizing
+a tea table-cloth I threw it over her head
+and stayed her speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dear, do you realize what you
+are saying?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you realize that you are tumbling
+my hair?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I paid no heed to this unimportant interjection,
+but said, "If any true patriot
+were to hear you make such an accusation
+you would subject yourself and me
+to some dreadful punishment, such as happened
+to Dreyfus, or 'The Man Without a
+Country.' Not honest? By the shades of
+George Washington, what are you thinking
+of? Why, one of the chief reasons
+of our superiority to all the other nations
+of the world is because of our honesty—our
+immunity from the low moral standards
+of effete, frivolous despotisms and
+unenlightened masses who are without the
+blessings of freedom. Not strictly honest?
+Josephine, your lack of tact, if nothing
+else, is positively audacious. Do you expect
+me to break this cruel piece of news
+to the optimistic patriot to whom this letter
+is addressed?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you are silly," said my wife,
+freeing herself from the tea table-cloth
+and trying to compose her slightly discomposed
+tresses. "I only thought
+aloud, and I said merely what you would
+have said sooner or later in more philosophical
+terms. I saw that you were tempted
+by the fear of not seeming a patriot to
+dilly-dally with the situation and avoid
+expressing yourself in perspicuous language.
+T-h-i-e-f spells thief; B-r-i-b-e-r-y
+spells bribery. I don't know much about
+politics, and I'm not a philosopher, but
+I understand the meaning of every-day
+English, and I should say that we were
+not even pretty honest. There! Those
+are my opinions, and I think you will
+save time if you send them in your letter
+instead of beating about the bush for extenuating
+circumstances. If you don't, I
+shall—for really, Fred, it's too simple a
+proposition. And as for the blame, it's
+six of one and half a dozen of the other."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Josephine, Josephine," I murmured,
+"there goes my last chance of being sent
+to the Philippines, in my capacity as a
+philosopher, to study whether the people
+of those islands are fit for representative
+government.")
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+You have read what Josephine says,
+my optimistic friend. She has stated that
+she would write to you her summing up
+of the whole matter if I did not, so I have
+inserted her deduction in all its crudity.
+She declares the trouble to be that the
+American people are dishonest. Of course,
+I cannot expect you to agree with any such
+conclusion, and I must admit that the boldness
+of the accusation is a shock to my
+own sensibilities as a patriot. Of course,
+Josephine is a woman and does not understand
+much about politics and ways
+and means, and it is notorious that women
+jump at conclusions instead of approaching
+them logically and in a dignified
+manner. But it is also said that their
+sudden conclusions are apt to be right.
+Dishonest? Dear me, what a dreadful
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_378' name='Page_378' href='#Page_378'>378</a></span>
+suggestion. I really think that she went
+a little too far. And yet I am forced to
+agree that appearances are very much
+against us, and that if we hope to lead the
+world in righteousness and progress we
+must, to recur to political phraseology,
+mend our moral fences. I do not indulge
+in meteoric flights, like Josephine.
+Let us argue the matter out soberly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You and I, as men of the world, will
+agree that if the American people prefer
+or find it more serviceable to cherish bribery
+as a federal institution, no one will
+interfere. The fact that it is ethically
+wrong is interesting to real philosophers
+and to the clergy, but bribery will continue
+to flourish like a bay-tree if it is the
+sort of thing which the American people
+like. Now, to all outward appearances
+they find it, if not grateful and comforting,
+at least endurable and convenient.
+Certainly, except among the class of people
+whom you would be apt to stigmatize
+as "holier than thous," there is comparatively
+little interest taken in the question.
+The mass of the community seek refuge
+behind the agreeable fiction that the
+abuse doesn't exist or exists only in such
+degree as to be unimportant. Many of
+these people know that this is false, but
+they will not admit that they think so in
+order not to make such doings familiar,
+just as their custom is to speak of legs as
+lower limbs in order not to bring a blush
+to the cheek of the young person. For
+thorough-going hypocrisy—often unconscious,
+but still hypocrisy—no one can
+equal a certain kind of American. It is
+so much easier in this world, where patting
+on the back is the touch-stone of preferment
+and popularity, to think that everything
+is as serene as the surface indicates,
+though you are secretly sure that it is
+not. How much more convenient to be
+able to say truthfully, "I have no knowledge
+of the facts, so don't bother me,"
+than to be constantly wagging the head
+and entertaining doubts concerning the
+purity of one's fellow-citizens, and so
+making enemies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I have indicated earlier in this letter,
+the ideal is dear to our patriotic sensibilities
+that we are governed by average opinion,
+and that the average is peculiarly high.
+The fastidious citizen in this country has
+been and still is fond of the taunt that men
+of upright character and fine instincts—what
+he calls gentlemen—will not enter
+public life, for the reason that they will not
+eat dirt. The reply has been that the real
+bugaboo of the fastidious citizen is one of
+manners, and that in the essentials of
+character, in strong moral purpose and
+solid worth, the average American voter is
+the peer of any aristocracy. The issue
+becomes really one of fact, and mere
+solemn assertion will not serve as evidence
+beyond a certain point. If the majority
+prefer dishonesty, the power is in their
+hands to perpetuate the system, but believing
+as you and I do that the majority
+at heart is honest, how are we to explain
+the continued existence of the evil? How
+as patriots shall we reconcile the perpetuation
+in power of the low comedians, Peter
+Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan, except on
+the theory that it is the will of the majority
+that they should continue to serve
+the people? This is not a question of kid
+gloves, swallow-tailed coats, and manners,
+but an indictment reflecting on the moral
+character and solid worth of the nation.
+How are we to explain it? What are we
+to say? Can we continue to declare that
+we are the most honest and aspiring people
+in the world and expect that portion of
+the world which has any sense of humor
+not to smile? Are we, who have been
+accustomed to boast of our spotless integrity
+as a people, ready to fall back on and
+console ourselves with the boast, which
+does duty nowadays on lenient lips, that
+we are as honest as any of the nations of
+Europe except, possibly, England? That
+is an indirect form of patriotic negation
+under the shadow of which low comedians
+and leading villains could ply their trade
+comparatively unmolested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As a philosopher, who is not a real philosopher,
+I find this charge of Josephine's
+a difficult nut to crack, and I commend it
+respectfully to your attention to mull over
+at your leisure, trusting that it may temper
+the effulgence of your thoughts on Independence
+Day. Yet having had my
+say as a philosopher, let me as an optimist,
+willing to succor a fellow-optimist, add
+a few considerations indicating that the
+situation may not be so ultimately evil as
+the existing state of affairs and Josephine
+would have us believe. I write "may not
+be," because I am not altogether confident
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_379' name='Page_379' href='#Page_379'>379</a></span>
+that my intelligence is not being cajoled
+by the natural cheeriness and buoyancy
+of my disposition. The sole question at
+issue is whether the majority of the American
+people are really content to have the
+money power of the country prey upon
+and be the prey of the lowest moral sense
+of the community.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We have before us an every-day spectacle
+of eager aggregations of capital
+putting aside scruples as visionary and impractical,
+and hence "un-American," in
+order to compass success, and at the other
+side of the counter the so-called representatives
+of the people, solemn in their
+verbiage but susceptible to occult and disgraceful
+influences. The two parties to
+the intercourse are discreet and businesslike,
+and there is little risk of tangible disclosure.
+Practically aloof from them,
+except for a few moments on election day,
+stands the mass of American citizens busy
+with their own money-getting or problem-solving,
+and only too ready to believe that
+their representatives are admirable. They
+pause to vote as they pause to snatch a
+sandwich at a railroad station. "Five
+minutes for refreshments!" Five minutes
+for political obligations! Individually there
+are thousands of strictly honest and noble-hearted
+men in the United States. Who
+doubts it? The originality and strength of
+the American character is being constantly
+manifested in every field of life. But there
+we speak of individuals; here we are concerned
+with majorities and the question of
+average morality and choice. For though
+we have an aspiring and enlightened van
+of citizens to point the way, you must
+remember that emigration and natural
+growth has given us tens of thousands of
+ignorant, prejudiced, and sometimes unscrupulous
+citizens, each of whose votes
+counts one. Perhaps it is true—and here
+is my grain of consolation or hope—that
+the average voter is so easy-going, so long-suffering,
+so indisposed to find fault, so
+selfishly busy with his own affairs, so proud
+of our institutions and himself, so afraid
+of hurting other people's feelings, and so
+generally indifferent as to public matters,
+provided his own are serene, that he
+chooses to wink at bribery if it be not in
+plain view, and likes to deceive himself
+into believing that there is nothing wrong.
+The long and short of it seems to be that
+the average American citizen is a good
+fellow, and in his capacity of good fellow
+cannot afford to be too critical and particular.
+He leaves that to the reformer,
+the literary man, the dude, the college
+professor, the mugwump, the philosopher,
+and other impractical and un-American
+people. If so, what has become of that
+heritage of his forefathers, the stern Puritan
+conscience? Swept away in the great
+wave of material progress which has centred
+all his energies on what he calls success,
+and given to the power of money a
+luring importance which is apt to make
+the scruples of the spirit seem unsubstantial
+and bothersome. An easy-going,
+trouble-detesting, self-absorbed democracy
+between the buffers of rapacity and rascality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A disagreeable conclusion for an optimist,
+yet less gloomy than the other alternative.
+This condition admits of cure,
+for it suggests a torpid conscience rather
+than deliberate acquiescence. It indicates
+that the representatives are betraying the
+people, and that there is room for hope
+that the people eventually may rise in their
+might and call them to account. If they
+do, I beg as a philosopher with humorous
+proclivities, to caution them against
+seizing the wrong pig by the ear. Let
+them fix the blame where it belongs, and
+not hold the corporations and the money
+power wholly responsible. It may be possible
+in time to abolish trusts and cause
+rich men sleepless nights in the crusading
+name of populism, but that will avail little
+unless at the same time they go to the real
+root of the matter, and quicken the average
+conscience and strengthen the moral purpose
+of the plain people of the United
+States. There will be leading villains and
+low comedians so long as society permits,
+and so long as the conscience of democracy
+is torpid. The players in the drama
+are, after all, only the people themselves.
+Charles the First was beheaded because
+he betrayed the liberties of the people.
+Alas! there is no such remedy for a corrupt
+democracy, for its heads are like those of
+Hydra, and it would be itself both the
+victim and the executioner.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_380' name='Page_380' href='#Page_380'>380</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="headerbox">
+<h2 class="boxed_header">
+THE POINT OF VIEW
+</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="sidenote">A Question of<br />
+Accent.</p>
+
+<p class="post">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span>&nbsp;suppose there is no gainsaying the
+authority of "general usage" in the matter
+of English pronunciation—even
+when that usage is etymologically wrong. If
+there is one instinct in the Anglo-Saxon race
+which is at once widespread and admirable, it is
+surely our instinct to avoid even the
+semblance of preciosity; the Prig is
+justly our pet abhorrence. Maybe
+some of us incline to carry this instinct a
+thought too far; as, for instance, the educated
+English lady who, when taken to task by an
+American for saying <i>sónorous</i>, replied: "We
+always say <i>sónorous</i>; of course we know well
+enough that it really is <i>sonórous</i>, but it would
+sound awfully priggish to say so in every-day
+talk!" But she was an extreme example, and,
+though I still persist in saying <i>sonórous</i>, I am
+far from wishing to undo the long-done work
+of that "general usage" which has given us
+<i>bálcony</i> (for <i>balcóny</i>) and <i>anémone</i> (for <i>anemóne</i>).
+About <i>paresis</i> I may be in some doubt,
+for the word is so young in general use that
+there may still be time to check the spread of
+the illiterate <i>parésis</i>. The latter pronunciation
+does not seem to me to have been consecrated
+by sufficiently long usage to have won
+indisputable authority; there may be a chance
+for <i>páresis</i> yet!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are, however, many words in our
+language, derived from the Latin, on the accentuation
+of which both authority and usage
+are still divided; and I cannot think the time
+past for etymology fairly having something to
+say about these. Yet it seems to me that the
+etymological rule for accenting such words,
+as it is commonly set down, leaves a good
+deal to be desired in point of logic. It is that
+syllables which are long by derivation should
+be accented, that those which are short should
+not; and by it we get <i>compénsate</i>, <i>contémplate</i>,
+etc.; but a large number of recognizedly educated
+people say <i>cómpensate</i> and <i>cóntemplate</i>,
+and also have the authority of some excellent
+lexicographers therefore. What authority
+there may be for throwing the accent upon
+the penult in these words cannot yet be considered
+as final.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A word which leads me to an explanation
+of my idea is <i>elegiac</i>—which the Standard Dictionary
+now gives as <i>elégiac</i> only, but which
+used to be pronounced <i>elegíac</i> by most cultivated
+English speakers. It is rather a scholarly
+word, and I fancy most scholars to-day
+still pronounce it <i>elegíac</i>; it seems to me that
+there still hangs about <i>elégiac</i>, as Walker said
+in his day, a "suspicion of illiteracy." But, if
+<i>elegíac</i> is right, why is it right? The rule for
+accenting syllables that are long by etymology
+does not hold good here, for the <i>i</i> in <i>elegiācus</i>
+is short, as it is also in the Greek <i>elegiakós</i>.
+It seems to me so highly probable as to amount
+almost to a certainty, that scholarly Englishmen
+fell into the habit of saying <i>elegíac</i> simply
+because they had already formed the habit
+of saying <i>elegiācus</i>. They accented the <i>i</i> in
+English because it was accented in Latin; and
+in Latin it is accented, not because it is long
+(which it is not), but because the <i>a</i> which follows
+it is short. And, if English scholars said
+<i>elegíac</i> from habit, may not the results of a similar
+Latin habit be found in our pronunciation
+of hosts of other English words of Latin origin?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rule for accentuation I would propose
+is this: "If the syllable which is penultimate
+in the English word is accented in the Latin, it
+should be accented in the English word also;
+if, however, this syllable is unaccented in Latin,
+the accent in the English word should fall
+back upon the antepenult." Thus the penultimate
+<i>i</i> in <i>elegiac</i> is accented because the
+corresponding <i>i</i> is accented in <i>elegíacus</i>. An
+old school-master of mine used to insist upon
+our saying <i>Quirínal</i>, because the <i>i</i> was long;
+I maintain that <i>Quírinal</i> is right, because
+the second <i>i</i> in <i>Quirinālis</i> is unaccented.
+This rule would give us <i>cóntemplate</i> and <i>cómpensate</i>
+because the syllables <i>tem</i> and <i>pen</i> are
+unaccented in <i>contemplātus</i> and <i>compensātus</i>
+respectively. (It is of no avail to argue in
+favor of <i>contémplate</i> that the <i>tem</i> is long, and
+accented in <i>contémplo</i>; our English word is
+derived from the Latin participle, not from the
+first person singular of the present indicative.)
+<i>Désiccate</i> would be right on the same principle,
+and <i>desíccate</i>, wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this rule of mine we can preserve an
+English pronunciation as nearly like the
+original Latin as it is in the spirit of our language
+to do; and, where authority and usage
+are wellnigh equally divided, this seems to
+me worth while.
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_381' name='Page_381' href='#Page_381'>381</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="headerbox">
+<h2 class="boxed_header">
+THE FIELD OF ART
+</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>
+<i>THE USE AND ABUSE OF DECORATIVE
+CONVENTIONS IN ARCHITECTURE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="post">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span>t is always more or less futile to quarrel
+with the vernacular. Otherwise we should
+take exception to the word <i>design</i> in the
+sense of invention. The latter is the more
+expressive term. In the language of those
+nations from which modern art is derived,
+<i><span lang="fr_FR">dessiner</span></i>, <i><span lang="it_IT">disegnare</span></i> mean to draw. Italian
+authors of the Renaissance, in estimating an
+artist's achievement, invariably weighed his
+inventive faculties. Thus Vasari, in summarizing
+Raphael's qualities, extols his "<i><span lang="it_IT">disegno,
+colorito ed invenzione</span></i>"—his drawing, color,
+and invention. An illustrator "invents" and
+"draws;" for instance, "Giovanni Albertelli
+<i>inv. e dis.</i>" Emphasis is here laid on the
+word invention, and on its vogue in other
+lands, both because it is very forceful, and
+because it seems to imply something more
+than "design." A plagiarist might venture
+to risk the term "design" when he would
+balk at "invention."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If we enter one of our patrician homes—palaces,
+palazzi, or private hotels, they would
+be called elsewhere—what do we find to exalt
+the decorative artist, where the work has been
+the sole product of the architect, and it may
+be added of the patrician himself? Much
+splendor there is, assuredly, and gold, and
+rich carving, and sumptuous marble, and
+opulent stuffs; even expatriated mantles and
+whole rooms, kidnapped from the harmonious
+surroundings where they were a perpetual
+joy—imported to discord with our modern
+alien habitats. Sometimes we happen on an
+Italian Renaissance room without a spark of
+the easy invention and graceful free-hand
+work that was the charm of the original; but
+more frequently we meet with debased Louis
+XV. and Louis XVI., debased in the inspirationless
+copy. The originals of these things
+are very beautiful indeed, and will ever be the
+immortal models for decorative artists. But
+it must not for a moment be supposed by the
+laity that in mechanically reproducing these
+things we are inventing or adding an iota to
+the art product of the world. Perhaps this
+lack of invention can better be appreciated
+when the bald statement is made that a well-equipped
+decorator would not think it worth
+his while to enter our buildings for the purpose
+of studying fresh ideas; always excepting
+those instances where the services of a
+capable artist have been engaged, and the
+few exceptions to every rule.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Archæology has taught its lesson of accuracy
+in the arts. As we have already observed,
+the tendency is to copy rather than to
+assimilate. The reproductive processes have
+overwhelmed the practitioner with an excess
+of material, far more than can be digested.
+We have acquired the photograph habit.
+Could half the time be devoted to invention
+that is given to the excavation from portfolios
+of the desired prototypes, and to the formation
+of collections, it would be better for art.
+We have repeatedly anathematized the vast
+aggregation of photographs so cheaply and
+easily obtained. Were they to perish from
+the earth, design would take a great leap forward—for
+their abuse is almost inevitable.
+The mere power of limning is compromised
+by an over-reliance on them. Constant reference,
+even to an original study from nature,
+clogs the creative faculty, and hampers the
+impatient hand, much more so, an alien reproduction.
+Once a distinguished artist lost
+all his preliminary studies for a picture when
+his house was ransacked by the Prussians.
+"I am glad of it," he said, "for now I feel
+emancipated and can work with greater freedom."
+It must always be borne in mind that
+the best designs were made before the invention
+of the reproductive processes, and the
+exactions of precise archæology. It is safe
+here to use the word "best," because the constant
+copying of them is an admission of their
+primacy. It must not be supposed that the
+Renaissance man was more virtuous than we
+are. Probably he was less so. He stole
+things wherever he could lay his hands on
+them. Fortunately, there was less to steal in
+quality and quantity. Nor had he acquired
+the lesson of accuracy. Even the engraver,
+when he tried to counterfeit, let us say an
+"Albert Dürer," did it rather clumsily. If
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_382' name='Page_382' href='#Page_382'>382</a></span>
+an artist wished to reproduce another's work
+for self-instruction, he rendered it very freely,
+infusing a good deal of his own personality
+into the copy, unconsciously, without doubt.
+From our point of view this copy was pitiable
+as an imitation. For his purpose, it was just
+as good as the closer reproduction, even better.
+Giuliano Sangallo's drawing from the
+antique would make schoolboys merry, while
+both they and their preceptors admire the
+creations which these somewhat clumsy
+sketches evoked. One of the fragments of
+the lost "Battle of Anghiari," by Leonardo,
+comes to us through the exuberant handling
+of Rubens, the freest sort of a translation, as
+were all his Italian notes. Raphael, painter-architect,
+makes a pen and ink from the
+"Three Graces at Sienna," after graduating
+from the school of Perugino (we follow
+Müntz). From the photographic standpoint
+the humblest in a well-conducted antique
+class could do better. But these men, and
+hosts of others, <i>invented</i>—some painters,
+some sculptors, some architects, perhaps the
+two or three in one. Take, for instance, that
+much used and very popular member, the
+capital, a magnificent vehicle for decorative
+expression. Observe Sangallo's in the Palazzo
+Gondi, Stagio-Stagi's at Pisa, or those
+in the Palazzo dei Pazzi. But why specify
+these, when beautiful examples swarm in Bologna,
+Ferrara, Urbino, and all over northern
+Italy, full of lovely ideas and graceful in
+contour, capitals evolved from the antique in
+a general way, and quite equal to them for
+pure beauty, and surpassing them in fancy?
+We are prone to denounce the "barocco"
+work. Eliminating for the nonce the question
+of taste, let us glance at it from the
+inventive point of view. We have seen
+compositions by the much abused painter-architect,
+Vasari, evidently turned out with
+perfect facility, that would tax the creative
+faculty of a modern almost to despair. The
+Zuccari Brothers, Poccetti, and men of that
+generation, at times did things in shocking
+taste, but at times they composed very beautifully
+and were always interesting, flinging
+broadcast fresh ideas. We may not like a
+frame, or an arm-chair by a barocco Brustolon,
+yet we must admire his fluent design.
+Thanks to passionless imitations, the uninitiated
+are prone to associate nothing but dry
+formality with such names as Vignola or
+Palladio. Let them see the villas by these
+architects in the neighborhood of Rome or
+Vicenza, and they will soon be disabused of
+any such impressions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is high time that the architect should declare
+himself an artist by a display of the artistic
+qualities, an important one being the invention
+of ornamental motives. He should
+differentiate himself from the engineer. But
+as matters now stand, finding himself unable
+to evolve fresh decorative forms either from
+lack of time or faculty, he has recourse to his
+library, and cribs or re-distributes decorative
+conventions, more or less trite, according to
+the date of the print or photograph, with the
+well known result. These aids are also within
+the reach of the engineer, or even the
+"builder," pure and simple. With a very little
+study, either might learn to handle them
+adroitly. So that if the architect wishes to
+occupy an impregnable position, he must fortify
+it with artistic accomplishments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That somewhat negative quality, jejune
+good taste, a sparse use of the very well
+known and approved decorative forms, has
+its charm. It is a perfectly safe policy for an
+architect to pursue. In the face of much
+tawdry stuff, one craves it—the mere hungry
+surface, relieved here and there by the authorized
+classic motives. But this cold chasteness
+is as much a moral as an artistic idea.
+It means æsthetic sterility, petrified decoration.
+A living art connotes invention. The
+same is true of the dictum that a good copy
+is better than a bad original. Perhaps it is;
+but no artistic progress can be made under
+such a tenet, and the beautiful prototype deteriorates
+in reproduction, and loses the inspiration
+in its frequency.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Be it understood that the question of decorative
+instruction is not under discussion.
+More tenaciously, perhaps, than others, we
+hold that the student must know the historical
+conventions, his grammar of ornament,
+just as a writer must know his alphabet, not
+in order to use them subsequently, but to
+profit by their lessons. What concerns us
+now is the golden mean between the use
+and abuse of accredited conventions. Certain
+simple decorative motives, such as dentils,
+egg and darts, pearls, frets, etc., have become
+part and parcel of our decorative conceptions.
+They are valuable accessories, almost as essential
+to artistic syntax as the unimportant,
+yet necessary, conjunction is to rhetorical
+syntax. In literary composition no objection
+can be made to a timely quotation as an auxiliary
+to the subject-matter, but very serious
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_383' name='Page_383' href='#Page_383'>383</a></span>
+objection would be made were citations forced
+to do the author's work vicariously. It is only
+when architects make their conventions bear
+the sole brunt of ornamentation and call it
+"art" that complaint is made. Did we not
+constitutionally object to the thoughtless use
+of the superlative so much in vogue, especially
+when æsthetic themes are under discussion,
+we should say that in the use of classic conventions,
+the discretion and taste of the della
+Robbia were very nearly supreme. The
+founder of the clan, Andrea, was, perhaps,
+less influenced by the antique than any decorative
+artist of his time; still he was influenced
+by it, as every Italian of his date must
+have been. Take one of his famous <i>tondi</i> as
+an example. The expressional picture is in
+the centre, architecturally framed as it should
+be by a fillet or two, or an egg and dart, perhaps,
+confining a decorative border of great
+beauty, inspired by the fruits of the earth,
+largely treated. Here we have a composition
+firmly framed, well suited to structural needs,
+sufficiently architectural, yet immensely interesting.
+This is the very acme of decorative
+excellence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Archæology and chance have recently conferred
+one benefit, not to mention others, for
+which we must be truly grateful. They have
+clearly demonstrated the inventive faculties
+of the ancients. They have proved to us
+that the architects and decorators of classic
+times were always doing what artists will
+ever do—the unexpected. Familiar with the
+reproductions of certain consecrated monuments,
+students have been too prone to believe
+that the art of the Greeks and Romans
+was highly conventionalized; that it moved
+in very narrow and prescribed channels. The
+rendering of these monuments in the authoritative
+works has aggravated the belief. Actually,
+the ancients worked with great freedom,
+doing what we should never look for. Suppose
+it had been required to "restore" a
+Livia's villa, not knowing the original, would
+it ever have entered the restorer's head to
+paint a freehand landscape on its walls?
+Suppose the task was to make a patera <i><span lang="fr_FR">à l'antique</span></i>,
+would it ever have occurred to the designer
+to plant a portrait head in its centre
+with a meagre line or two about it? Yet
+just such a patera was found at Bosco Reale
+a few years since. The problem being to
+build a Roman arch, who would ever have
+dreamed of constructing such an one as we
+find at Timgad, dedicated to Trajan, with its
+lateral bays crowned by curved pediments?
+It is very well known in these days that the
+ancient Greeks and Romans were creative
+artists, whether they diademed an Acropolis,
+or carved the throne of a Zeus, or "hit off"
+a Tanagra figurine, or colored a Palatine
+wall, or a Pompeiian villino—not to mention
+the myriad household utensils, some the most
+humble, exquisitely designed. In plain English—they
+invented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The failure of the architect as a decorative
+designer is a logical sequence of commercialism.
+It is not to be expected that the breadwinner
+should make superfluous sacrifices—that
+would be "bad business." While in
+every profession there are philanthropic enthusiasts
+capable of high and costly flights of
+altruism, the rank and file cannot be called
+upon to immolate themselves to an unremunerative
+idea. One must live, and live well,
+too, in these days. Taking his long and expensive
+training into consideration, and his
+multifarious requirements, it may be boldly
+asserted that few, if any, of the professions
+are so poorly paid as that of the architect.
+He is not bedecked with the trappings of
+wealth. His range of theoretical knowledge
+must be wide, and his practical experience
+very considerable. Probably no class of men
+is more roundly abused for its pains. The
+client has usually a pack of complaints
+against his architect, and makes it a point to
+air them. On several occasions we have
+heard men, high in their respective callings,
+irritably denounce, on the flimsiest grounds,
+all architects as "frauds." It is needless to
+say that our sympathies have invariably been
+with the latter, for, as a profession, we believe
+them to be high-minded, cultivated,
+conscientious, and efficient. The reason that
+they are not decorative designers is because
+they are not paid for original design. Yet,
+with all their diversified requirements in
+these days of novel and necessarily tentative
+construction, they would quickly acquire the
+lost habit, if it were worth their while. Yes,
+the habit is lost, has perished of inanition,
+temporarily, at least. The client does not
+want original design at the price exacted.
+He is not a Mæcenas; he prefers the mechanical
+reproduction of stale forms at a
+lower figure, <i>i.e.</i>, the shopworn conventional.
+Moreover, he is rather inclined to
+the habitual as being safer. Under these
+conditions, fresh thoughts cannot be looked
+for. Even those men whose lives are devoted
+<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_384' name='Page_384' href='#Page_384'>384</a></span>
+to architectural decoration alone, the
+decorative painters and sculptors, are frequently
+forced by the client to use the wearisome
+ornaments of the past, much to their
+chagrin, because fresh thought is too expensive.
+Not much objection seems to be made
+to a lavish outlay on mere barbaric material,
+but a vigorous stand is taken against an outlay
+on artistic invention. What is the result?
+Unable to evolve fresh motives, the architect,
+perforce, turns to his portfolios and copies.
+He must have ornament, for ornament is
+part and parcel of his profession as well as
+solid construction and harmonious proportion.
+Therefore, he purloins it. There is no
+sin in it, for it is done overtly and no one is
+deceived. Any man in the other professions
+would do likewise under similar conditions.
+It would be reprehensible if he did not. Only
+this road does not lead to new ideas—to a
+new style. Artistic invention cannot thrive
+under such conditions.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+F. C.
+</p>
+
+<p class="post p2">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span>t is not many years since a wealthy New
+Yorker, a man who employs builders a
+good deal, and architects somewhat, objected
+to arguments and appeals similar to
+those printed above, by demonstrating that
+a good old building was certainly fine, whereas
+a proposed new building only ran small
+chance of being fine, and that it followed
+(for so it seemed to him)—it followed that it
+was wiser for an architect to copy the old
+building rather than to try to design a fresh
+one. This was a <i><span lang="fr_FR">fin-de-siècle</span></i> idea, indeed!
+Surely, the decadence can hardly go farther
+than to embody itself in a declaration that it
+was less troublesome and more satisfactory
+to take your designs ready-made from fine
+old things of the past! The rich New Yorker
+in question was, undoubtedly, quoting his favorite
+architectural practitioner; but that same
+practitioner would hardly have been willing
+to have said as much among artists. Assuredly
+he would never have stood up at a
+meeting of artists and have declared his
+gospel in any such terms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The difficulty in the way of expense may
+be thought by some not so great as Mr.
+Crowninshield has made it. When the present
+writer was a pupil in an architect's office,
+the head man, the designer, the real maker
+of the drawings, a workman prolific and able
+in his way, allowed this confidence to escape
+him—"Yes, I used to think I would
+get a mountain of tracing-paper and trace
+everything [photographs were not so cheap
+in those days]—and then I would never
+be out of material! But I found by and
+by that it was too much trouble to find
+what I wanted; it is really much easier to
+design it; what you want, is a knowledge of
+the style, and what may be done, and what
+cannot be done; and there you are! Besides
+the time lost in finding your 'material'
+you lose another infinite lot of time in
+fitting the material together—and <i>then</i> it
+does not fit!" That is as true now as it was
+a good many years ago. The only reason
+why a modern designer finds it easier to copy
+than to invent is that he is not really familiar
+with the style, nor really in the habit of designing
+in it. He is not really familiar with the
+style, because he has accustomed himself to
+go straight to books where all his details are
+to be found complete, and with their relative
+dimensions figured, and to copy them. He
+is not in the habit of designing in the style
+(whatever it may be), because, again, he has
+done nothing for years but patch together
+copied details. He is not in the habit of inventing,
+because, as Mr. Crowninshield has
+shown, he has too much else to do and too
+much else to think of; and because invention
+is not required of him by his clients, nor
+even delicate, choice, and careful treating of
+what he has chosen, nor even seemly combination
+of what he has chosen into new resulting
+wholes. If he really knew his style
+so that he felt at home in it—so that he felt
+it to be plastic in his hands; so that he dared
+play with it and alter its details in absolute
+conviction that he would not abandon its essential
+characteristics in so doing—then he
+would find it easier to invent than to copy,
+provided always he had the habit of freehand
+drawing and of simple modelling, and the
+habit of using either or both of those familiar
+arts for the ornamentation of objects large
+and small.
+</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+R. S.
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume XXVI,
+September 1899, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 1899 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 57794-h.htm or 57794-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/7/9/57794/
+
+Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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/license
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/57794-h/images/cover.jpg b/57794-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f49857
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcapb.png b/57794-h/images/dropcapb.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7948e01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcapb.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcapd.png b/57794-h/images/dropcapd.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..609602d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcapd.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcape.png b/57794-h/images/dropcape.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ff09d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcape.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcapi.png b/57794-h/images/dropcapi.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff40c09
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcapi.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcapm.png b/57794-h/images/dropcapm.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..232484a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcapm.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcaps.png b/57794-h/images/dropcaps.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0325f19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcaps.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/dropcapt.png b/57794-h/images/dropcapt.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dbed1ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/dropcapt.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-001-575.png b/57794-h/images/i-001-575.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0edb8eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-001-575.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-002.png b/57794-h/images/i-002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e459d33
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-002.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-003.png b/57794-h/images/i-003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b0fd639
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-003.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-003lg.png b/57794-h/images/i-003lg.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f9b2d78
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-003lg.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-004alt.png b/57794-h/images/i-004alt.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f6336b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-004alt.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-005.png b/57794-h/images/i-005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..030038e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-005.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-006.png b/57794-h/images/i-006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d98d70b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-006.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-007.png b/57794-h/images/i-007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d34728a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-007.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-007b.png b/57794-h/images/i-007b.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fde608c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-007b.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-008.png b/57794-h/images/i-008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29cdf32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-008.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-009.png b/57794-h/images/i-009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31603f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-009.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-009b.png b/57794-h/images/i-009b.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..af9853e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-009b.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-010.png b/57794-h/images/i-010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d8b93f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-010.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-011.png b/57794-h/images/i-011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..223469b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-011.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-012.png b/57794-h/images/i-012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f62e24b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-012.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-012b.png b/57794-h/images/i-012b.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c08572f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-012b.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-013.png b/57794-h/images/i-013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8b90f50
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-013.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-014.png b/57794-h/images/i-014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96cf64c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-014.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-015.png b/57794-h/images/i-015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06598ab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-015.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-019.png b/57794-h/images/i-019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b83f539
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-019.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-024.png b/57794-h/images/i-024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8b45cb6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-024.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-026.png b/57794-h/images/i-026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c3300b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-026.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-028.png b/57794-h/images/i-028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a332dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-028.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-029.png b/57794-h/images/i-029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4fc35e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-029.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-030.png b/57794-h/images/i-030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e58c5c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-030.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-031.png b/57794-h/images/i-031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4038ca4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-031.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-032aalt.png b/57794-h/images/i-032aalt.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f3abd70
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-032aalt.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-032balt.png b/57794-h/images/i-032balt.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3b64af8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-032balt.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-033.png b/57794-h/images/i-033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e29d5a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-033.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-036.png b/57794-h/images/i-036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98da573
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-036.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-037.png b/57794-h/images/i-037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98ac883
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-037.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-039.png b/57794-h/images/i-039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d24801
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-039.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-040.png b/57794-h/images/i-040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80d1df8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-040.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-041.png b/57794-h/images/i-041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e72586
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-041.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-042.png b/57794-h/images/i-042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed48394
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-042.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-043.png b/57794-h/images/i-043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..99a31a9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-043.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-048.png b/57794-h/images/i-048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7694522
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-048.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-049.png b/57794-h/images/i-049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7b23522
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-049.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-050.png b/57794-h/images/i-050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f679cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-050.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-051.jpg b/57794-h/images/i-051.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66a3ea6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-051.jpg
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-052.png b/57794-h/images/i-052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9a34cd0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-052.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-063.png b/57794-h/images/i-063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2770bf2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-063.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-064.png b/57794-h/images/i-064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8c45384
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-064.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-065.png b/57794-h/images/i-065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c9ccb5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-065.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-066.png b/57794-h/images/i-066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb058ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-066.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-067.png b/57794-h/images/i-067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..672b11a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-067.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-069.png b/57794-h/images/i-069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3de3d7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-069.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-076.png b/57794-h/images/i-076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aca35f3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-076.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-077.png b/57794-h/images/i-077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..039d2f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-077.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-078.png b/57794-h/images/i-078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..82dfea2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-078.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-079.png b/57794-h/images/i-079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11d2b51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-079.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-080.png b/57794-h/images/i-080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d66dab4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-080.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-082.png b/57794-h/images/i-082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53e6d3d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-082.png
diff --git a/57794-h/images/i-083.png b/57794-h/images/i-083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6af9848
--- /dev/null
+++ b/57794-h/images/i-083.png
author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-08 09:15:21 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-08 09:15:21 -0800
commit	13380a646cde7483726b569724e9670ebdcee3a9 (patch)
tree	a8c5440b6d42ac22307dd85a1c381f865d3a35f5