**^*« ^#^.?C.^^; ■■-•\-'^^:' :■;;•«.% .*^; ^m.^•,-i^/:,i, ,J%-^■ ■^■■■%JS^^,,.l «■ •••• l-t ■*'■-, .*.. '*^^^^#'- — ^^.K-* » •■^^ *•{ !r*4 ■V*,'. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with fundingfrom The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant http://www.archive.org/details/centuryillustratv39newy T»? CENTU RY ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY i^AGAZINE. November 1888, to April l8S§ T?f CENTURY C9, NEW-YORK T. FISHER UNVIN, LONDON. Vo2.XXXVir, mzi)Seri£sVot.XK C Copyright, 1889, by The Century Co. The De Vinne Press, INDEX TO THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XXXVII. ' NEW SERIES: VOL. XV. Page Alix De Morainville. See " Louisiana." Amateur Theatricals Gustav Kobbe 749 Illustrations by George Wharton Edwards and F. H. Lungren. America. See " United States." Annexation, or Federation Editorial 471 Aphorisms from the Study Xenos Clark 320 Apprentice System, An American Richard T. AncJwmty 401 Architects, Our. Are We Just to Them ? Editorial 473 Artist Gerome, The. See"Ger6me." Ballot Reform, Progress of Editorial 312 Beecher at Liverpool in 1863 J. M. Buckley 240 Beecher, Henry Ward, The Last Manuscript of ,...,■ 308 With fac-simile. Bible Study. See " Sinai " and " Galilee." Bird Music : The Loon, or Great Northern Diver Simeon Pease Cheney 97 Born Inventor, A Harry Stilhvell Edwards . . . . 912 Illustration by E. W. Kemble. British Empire, The Reorganization of the George R. Parkin 187 (See also " Home Rule," " Annexation," and " Federation.") Bryce's (James) "The American Commonwealth." See " United States." Buell's (Gen.) Criticism on Gen. Mitchell. . . (War Memoranda). .F. A. AfUchell 149 Buffalo-Soldiers, A Scout with the Frederic Remingtojt 899 Illustrations by the author. Byzantines, The. See " Italian Old Masters." " Calvary, The Place called," W^here was it ? . Charles S. Robinson 98 Illustrations by J. D. Woodward and Harry Fenn, from photographs by E. L. Wilson. Map by Jacob Wells. Canada. See " Annexation " and " Federation." Canal, The, at Island No. 10 (War Memoranda) . . \ ^\ ' ' ^" ^Z* ' 3^ ( Col. George A. Wtlliains .... 631 Cathedral, York. See "York." Centennial Historical Exhibition, A Editorial 634 Christianity. See " Reformation." Christmas Editorial 311 iv INDEX, Page CiMABUE. See " Italian Old Masters." Cole (Timothy) and his Work. See "Italian Old Masters." College Fraternities (Open Letters) 799 Confederacy. See "West Point." Congress. See " Representatives." Congressmen, Election Laws for Editorial. 795 Constitutional Interpretation, A Century of John BachMcMaster 866 Constitutional Amendments Editorial 950 Construction, Slow-burning Edward Atkinson.. 566 Illustrated with fifteen drawings and diagrams. Copyright Agitation, A Crisis in the Editorial. 474 Correspondence of Mr. Miles Grogan, The George H. Jessop 766 Illustrations by C. D. Gibson. Crime, The Punishment of Editorial. .: 152 " Criminals, Aristocracy of." Should there be one ? Editorial 313 Cuban Dances, How they become German Students' Songs and > (Open Letters.) American Ditties become Italian Mountaineers' Melodies. ^ Richard Hoffman 157 DoLLARD, The Romance of. (Complete) , Mary Hartwell Catherwood , 81 Illustrations by Henry Sandham. 261,344,528 Duccio. See " Italian Old Masters." Dutch Painters at Home Emma Eames Chase 755 Illustrations by Harry Chase. Election, A Presidential, The Value of Editorial 151 Election Laws for Congressmen Editorial 795 Elections, Municipal, Separate Editorial 472 Electricity, Something it is Doing Charles Barnard. 736 Illustration by W. Taber. Federation, or Annexation Editorial 471 Federation, Imperial (Open Letters) . . Charles H. Lugrin 959 Fiction, Religion in. Sarcasm of (Open Letters) . . T. T. Munger 155 Fire Prevention. See "Construction." Foote, Mary Hallock, Pictures by. See "West, Far." France, Republicanism in Editorial. 953 Franqoise. See " Louisiana." C Gen. D. S. Stanley 628 Franklin, A Question of Command at (War Memoranda). . < Gen. J. D. Cox 630 ( Col. Henry Stone ... 631 French Masters and American Art Students ' Editorial. 634 Gaddi. See "Italian Old Masters." Galilee, Round About Edward L. Wilson 413 Illustrations by Harry Fenn, Kenyon Cox, W. Taber, Otto H. Bacher, from photographs by F. M. Good and the author. Gatling Guns . (Open Letters) 637 Gerome, The Artist Fanny Field Hering 483 Illustrations, including frontispiece, from paintings and sketches by Gerome, drawings by Wyatt Eaton, Kenyon Cox, Harry Fenn, E. Daecke, and W. Taber. GfeROME, American Artists on (Open Letters). . George de Forest Brush, E. H. Blashfield, Kenyon Cox, Wyatt Eaton, Will H. Loiv, John H. Niemeyer, S. W. Van Schaick, A. H. Thayer, J. Alden Weir. (See also " French Masters.") 634 Gettysburg Campaign. See " Robertson." (War Memoranda.) Giotto. See " Italian Old Masters." Gravelotte Witnessed and Revisited Murat Halstead 117 Illustrations drawn by A. B. Davies, A. Brennan, and George Gibson, from photographs by George Lang, Charles Holt, Collet Edouard. Map by Jacob Wells. Guilds of London. See " London." Holland Painters. See " Dutch." Holt Method of Teaching Music, The (Open Letters). .Mary L. Lewis 318 Home Rule and Culture (Open Letters) . .Margaret F. Sullivan 317 Horses of the Plains. (Illustrations by the author.) Frederic Remington 332 INDEX, V Page Inauguration, The First. See " Washington " and "Centennial.". . . .Editorial 949 Ireland Charles de Kay. Illustrations by J. W. Alexander, Otto H. Bacher, W. Taber, W. J. Baer, W. H. Drake, A. B. Davies, and H. D. Nichols, from photographs by W. G. Moore and W. Lawrence. Pagan Ireland , . . 368 Fairies and Druids ... 590 Christian Ireland 675 " Irish Aigle," The Rise and Fall of The George H. Jessop 298 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. Italian Old Masters W. J. Stillman. With engravings and notes by Timothy Cole. Cole (Timothy) and his Work. (Introduction) , 57 The Byzantines : 59 Cimabue 63 Duccio 164 Giotto 323 Simone Memmi 541 Gaddo Gaddi 669 Taddeo Gaddi T 670 Ambrogio Lorenzetti 941 Jest of Fate, A Viola Rosebord' 932 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. Kennan, George, Papers by. See " Siberia." Language, The English, in America Editorial 797 Last Assembly Ball, The Mary Hallock Foote 773, 879 Law Procedure, American, The Imperfections of Editorial 632 Law Reform, Lynch Law as an Argument for Editorial 633 "Lawyers' Morals," More About — The Responsibility of Lay- > ,,^,, ,r\ T ii N r John D. Works 471^ MEN , (Open Letters) S . Lincoln, Abraham : A History J. G. Nicolay, John Hay. Jackson's Valley Campaign 130 The Seven Days' Battles 134 Harrison's Landing 142 First Plans for Emancipation 276 Pope's Virginia Campaign 427 Antietam ." 435 Emancipation Announced 440 The Removal of McClellan 546 Financial Measures. (See Note, p. 959) 553 Seward and Chase 559 The Edict of Freedom 689 With fac-similes of the manuscripts of the Emancipation Proclamations. Retaliation 917 The Enrollment and the Draft 923 Lincoln, A Letter of (Open Letters) . . William C. Wilkinson 477 Lincoln, The Life of (Open Letters). . Gen. Giistavjis W. Smith. . . 477 Lincoln's Disinterestedness Editorial 798 London, The Guilds of. Norman Moore 3 Illustrations by Joseph Pennell. London Henry James 219 Illustrations by Joseph Pennell. Loon, The. See " Bird Music." Lorenzetti. See " Italian Old Masters." Louisiana, Strange True Stories of Edited by George W. Cable. Introduction iio The Young Aunt M^ith the White Hair 114 Frangoise : 254, 358, 512 The History of Alix de Morainville 74^ Lynch Law as an Argument for Law Reform Editorial 633 vi INDEX. Page Mary, Queen of Scots, The Portraits of Laurence Huttott 612 With illustrations from the monument, engravings, and medals. Mexico, A White Umbrella in F. Hopkinson Smith 244 Illustrations by the author. Military Reserve, A Trained. (Open Letters.) Our Disbanded Veterans Capt. George L. Kilmer 954 Suggestions for Organization Col. J. G. Gilchrist 954 Need of Practical Training Capt. William H. Howard . . 955 A Plea for Social Interests in the Guard Paul A. McPherson ...... 955 General Suggestions W. J. Gregory 956 Annual Cost of a National Guardsman Maj. Edmund Cone Brush. . 956 " Minc " — A Plot Harry Stilhvell Edzvards .... 294 Mistaken Premises Jiilia Schayer 48. Mitchell (Gen.), Gen. Buell's Criticism on. . (War Memoranda) 149 Mother's Right, The (Open Letters) . .F. L 478 Navy, the, The Coast and ; . Editorial. 951 Nelson, Lord, Unpublished Letters of . ; Mrs. Herbert Jones 19 With portrait and frontispiece (facing page 3). New Market. See " West Point." Observations Ivan Pamn 480 Oil, The Use of, to Still the Waves Lietit. W. H. Beehler,U. S. N. 705 With diagrams. Old Man from the Old Country, An . . . . , , George H. Jessop 450 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. Painters. See "Dutch." Palestine. See " Sinai" and " Galilee." Party Names, American, A Confusion in .Editorial 314 Perverted Franchise, A A. C. Gordon 406 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. Political Corruption (Open Letters) . .Ernest H. Crosby 315 Punishment of Crime, The Editorial 152 Railway Relief Associations (Open Letters) . 'E O. Goddard 957 Reformation, The New Lyman Abbott 71 Religion in Fiction, Sarcasm of (Open Letters) . .T. T. Hunger 155 Representatives, Rules of the House of Thomas B. Reed, M. C 792 Rival Souls, The Harry Stillwell Edwards . . . 660 Robertson (Gen.) on the Gettysburg Campaign. (War Memoranda). .B. H Robertson 150 Rules of the House of Representatives Thojuas B. Reed, M. C 792 Russia. See " Siberia." Samoan Question, The, Some Aspects of George H. Bates ..... 945 Scots, Queen of. See " Mary." Sculpture. See "Warner." Shechem. See " Sinai." Siberia and the Exile System. (See also preceding volumes) George Kennan. Illustrations by George A. Frost and Henry Sandham, from sketches and photographs by George A. Frost. Political Exiles and Common Convicts at Tomsk 29 Life on the Great Siberian Road 171 The Life of Administrative Exiles 380 Exiles at Irkutsk 502 The Grand Lama of the Trans-Baikal 643 The Russian Police .... 890 A Question of Judgment (Open Letters) 154 Simone Memml See "Italian Old Masters." Sinai to Shechem, From Edtmrd L. Wilson 193 Illustrations by Kenyon Cox, Harry Fenn, and A. Brennan, from photographs by the author. "South, What of the " (Open Letters) . .Marion J. Verdery 799 Spencer, Herbert (Open Letters) . .M. H ; . . 319 Spinning, Hand, and Weaving in Westmoreland, Revival of . . . .Albert Fleming . 521 Illustrations by Edith Capper. INDEX. vii Page Squire Hobbs's Precepts i6o Stuart, Mary. See "Mary." Suffrage, Safeguards of the , Washington Gladden 621 Theatricals, Amateur Gustav Kobbe 749 Illustrations by George Wharton Edwards and F. H. Lungren. Third of March, The Julian Hawthorne 208 Two Negatives Mary Spear Tiernan 579 Under the Redwood Tree George H. Jessop 600 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. United States, A Full-Length Portrait of the. (James Bryce's > " The American Commonwealth ") > ^^ ^ ••■•79 C Newton M. Hall 157 " University and the Bible, The " (Open Letters) . . { Samuel Hart 158 I John B. Daish 958 Virginia Military Institute. See " West Point." Wampum Arthur Penn 960 Warner, Olin, Sculptor Henry Eckford 392 Illustrations drawn by Kenyon Cox, Wyatt Eaton, and Robert Blum, from the work of Olin L. Warner. Washington, The Inauguration of Clarence Winthrop Bowen. . . 803 Illustrations from old paintings and drawn by I. R. Wiles, E. J. Meeker, C. A. Vanderhoof, A. B. Davies, Harry Fenn, W. Taber, O. H. Bacher, W. H. Drake, and others. Washington at Mount Vernon after the Revolution Mrs. Burton Harrison 834 Illustrations by George Washington, George Wharton Edwards, A. B. Davies, Harry Fenn, and others. Washington in New York in 1789 Mrs. Burton Harrison 850 Illustrations from old paintings and drawn by A. Brennan, Harry Fenn, Joseph Pennell, and others. Washington, Original Portraits of • Charles Henry Hart 860 With engravings of portraits by Gilbert Stuart and John Trumbull. Weaving. See " Spinning." West, Far, Pictures of the * * * Illustrations by Mary Hallock Foote. Looking for Camp , » , 108 The Coming of Winter 163 The Sheriff's Posse 448 The Orchard Wind-Break , 500 The Choice of Reuben and Gad 686 West. See " Horses " and " Buffalo-Soldiers." Westmoreland. See " Spinning." West Point of the Confederacy, The : John S. Wise 461 While the Clock Strikes, at a Card Party .Xenos Clark 160 Woman's Work Question, Another Side of the. .(Open Letters). .L, E. Holman 316 York Cathedral Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 718 With illustrations by Joseph Pennell and plan from Murray's " Hand-Book to the Cathedrals of England." Young Aunt with the White Hair, The. See " Louisiana." POETRY. Ad Astra Henry Ames Blood 275 All-kind Mother, The .James Whitcofub Riley 545 Anti-Climax Margaret Vandegrift 320 April William Zachary Gladzvin . . 960 Army Wagon, The , C. S. Irwin 159 Attraction ; Elyot Weld 260 Baker'z Duzzen uv Wize Sawz, A . . Edzvard Rowland Sill 320 Capital, Down to the James Whitcomb Riley ...... 716 Casket of Opals, The George Parsons Lathrop 45 Coming from the Fields ^. .Harry Stilhvell Edxuards . . . 637 Courage ! to a Sad Poet James T. McKay 243 Critic, To a James Herbert Morse 239 Cupid hath Wings Kemper Bocock 960 viii . INDEX.' Page De Jingle ob de Bells on de Cows Edward A. Oldham 960 Devil's Balloon, The .C. F. C. . . . 640 Estrangement Langdon Elwyn Mitchell . . . 589 Fire Opal, A Edith M. Thomas 379 FooT-HiLLS, Evening Among the Edith M. Thomas 109 Frederick III Ina D. Coolbi-ith 80 Fruition Kate Putnam Osgood 520 Her Smile His Sunlight Frank Dempster Sherman . . . 480 Jester, The Matide Annulet Andrezvs . . . 480 Joy Doubled Julia Anna Wolcott 320 Lake Memory, A William. Wilfred Campbell. . 130 " Last Christmas was a Year Ago " James Whitcomb Filey 217 Last Letter, The Frank Dempster Sherman . . 668 Love's Unrest L. M. S. 741 Lyric, A Fichard Henry Stoddard .... 307 Mammy's Li'l' Boy • Harry Stilhvell Edwards ... 128 Illustration by E. W. Kemble. 'MONGST THE HiLLS o' SOMERSET James Whitcomb Filey 28 Music in Heaven Christopher F. Cranch 916 Narragansett. See " Peaked Rock." Natural Conclusion, A, After the Wet Spell Julie M. Lippf?ian 640 Noblesse Oblige. A. D. 760 Louise Imogen Guiney 319 Old Sermon, An Zoe Dana Underhill 405 On Attaining Popularity. (To J. W. R.) C' H. Crandall 320 " Once, When a Child " Mary Murdoch Mason 297 " Orient," The Story of the ■ Helen Gray Cone 95 " O Ye Sweet Heavens " T. W. Farsons 148 O You Fellers in th' City. (To J. W. R.) Fichard D. Lang 159 Peaked Rock : A Legend of Narragansett ■ Caroline Hazard 611 Poet of the Future, The James Whitcomb Filey 450 Poet of the Future, That. (To J. W. R.) Charles Henry Webb 959 " PovERi ! Poveris ! " Joaquin Miller 56 Prime of Life, The Walter Learned 959 Regret, A Agnes Maule Machar 448 River God, The '. Charles Henry Li'iders 772 Secret Song, A Elizabeth Gostwycke Foberts. 127 Seeing Ourselves as Others See Us Elizabeth P. Allan 158 Siberia Florence Earle Coates 659 Sill, Edward Rowland - Herbert D. Ward 765 Sixty and Six; or, A Fountain of Youth Thos. Wentivorth Higginson. 878 Smile of Mephistopheles, The — The Smile of the Vicar — The ^ ^ ^p- ^ ' ^ g Smile of Olivia S Song of Songs, The ' Eva Wilder McGlasson . ... 320 Spring Louise Morgan Smith 960 Supposition, A Margaret Vandegrift 160 Thank-ye-Ma'am, A. (To J. W. R.) Tudor Jenks 800 Illustration by E. W. Kemble. ( F. Dejnpster Sherman . . . . ) ^ Valentines, Two < ^ ^ ^ ^ ^4° Winter Lakes, The William Wilfred Campbell . . 343 DEPARTMENTS. Memoranda on the Civil War , • • ■ i49» 628 Topics of The Time 151, 312, 47i> 632, 795, 949 Open Letters i54, 3i5» 475» 634, 799, 954 Bric-A-Brac 158, 3i9» 480, 637, 800, 959 PAINTED BY LEMUEL F. ABBOTT. ■|N NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY, LONDON. ENGRAVED BY T. JOHNSON. LORD NELSON. The Century Magazine. Vol. XXXVII. NOVEMBER, 1888. No. I. THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOSEPH PENNELL. THE DRAPERS GARDEN. HE city of London is commonly supposed by foreigners to be the vast assemblage of houses ex- tending for some miles on both banks of the Thames in the coun- ties of Middlesex, Surrey, and Kent, inhabited by a population of four millions, the town residence of the Queen of England, the meeting-place of the Parliament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and the seat of government of the British Empire ; but when its citizens speak of the city of London they mean the district about one mile across Copyright, 1888, by TnE Cent which extends from Tower Hill to Temple Bar and over which the Lord Mayor presides. Through its streets his stately coach and four may be seen driving any day of the week with a sword sticking out of one window and a golden mace out of the other, and his lordship in all magnificence inside with a gold chain round his neck, a great robe on his shoulders, a cocked hat on his head, and supported by sword-bearer and mace-bearer, reminding ev- ery l)eholder whose childish reading has been judiciously directed of Sir Richard Whittington and Cinderella both at once. DRY Co. All riijhts reserved. THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. If Whittington's cat cannot be placed among well-authenticated Felidse, many a man has attained the glory of Lord Mayoralty in ways fully as romantic as those of Whittington in the nursery tale. Stephen Foster was a debtor con- fined in the jail of Ludgate, which once stood over the gate on the hill, a very little way west of St. Paul's. There was a grate at which every day a prisoner was allowed to sit to collect alms for his fellows, and here one day Foster sat. A wealthy widow passing by gave him money, inquired into his case, and took him into her service. He saved his wages, traded success- fully, married the widow, and in due time be- came Sir Stephen Foster, Lord Mayor of Lon- don. In his prosperity he forgot not his days of adversity, and founded a charity for prison- ers which was long kept up in the jail of Lud- gate and commemorated in his epitaph. Nor does the grandeur of a Lord Mayor end with coach and four, golden chain, and sword and mace. After laying these aside he has often retired into the country, where alone in an Englishman's notions the height of grand- eur can be attained, and founded a family splendid for generations, making alliances with older nobility and in time becoming old nobil- ity itself. The Lord Mayor is elected from the twenty- six aldermen or heads of the wards into which the city is divided by the votes of the Livery ; that is, of the members of the several guilds of the city. He is elected at the Guildhall on the feast of St. Michael the Archangel. Few more interesting ceremonies are to be seen in Eng- land. A wooden screen is erected outside the Guildhall with many doorways in it. At each is stationed the beadle of a guild, who is ex- pected to know all the liverymen of his com- pany and so to prevent unauthorized persons from entering. The floor of the Guildhall is strewn with sweet herbs, perhaps the last sur- viving instance of the medieval method of carpeting a hall. The twenty-six aldermen come in, all in scarlet gowns. The recorder, or law- officer of the city, rises, bows to the Lord Mayor and the assembled liverymen, and makes a little speech, declaring how from the time of King John they have had grants of certain rights of election. The Lord Mayor and alder- men then go out ; another law-officer, the com- mon sergeant, repeats what the recorder has already said and tells the. liverymen that they must name two for the office of Lord Mayor, of whom the Lord Mayor and aldermen will select one. Two names are then chosen, and THE GUILDHALL. THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. 9 '<%. THE MANSION HOUSE, HOME OF THE LORD MAYOR. are carried to the aldermen by the heads of some of the chief guilds. One is selected, and thereupon the Lord Mayor and the aldermen return to the Guildhall and sit down, the cho- sen future Lord Mayor sitting on the left of the actual Lord Mayor. The recorder again rises and reads the two names and the one selected, and asks the liverymen if it is their free election, " Yea or No." They shout " Yea," and the sword-bearer thereupon takes off the fur tippet of the Lord Mayor to be, and puts a chain around his neck. On the 8th of November there is another meeting in the Guildhall. The old Lord Mayor rises and gives the new one his seat. The chamberlain of the city then ap- proaches with three solemn bows, and hands to the new Lord Mayor a jeweled scepter, the common seal of the city, and an ancient purse. The sword-bearer next advances, and bowing three times, each time with increasing rever- ence, gives the Lord Mayor elect the great two-handed sword of state, which symbolizes justice and legal supremacy. The crier, with bows equal in number and profundity to those of the sword-bearer, next approaches, and pre- sents the mace. The aldermen and sheriffs then congratulate their new chief, who proceeds to sign certain documents, and among them a receipt for the city plate. Last of all, he is pre- sented with the keys of the standard weights and measures, deposited in his custody. The meeting then breaks up, and the old Lord Mayor goes back to the Mansion House, his official residence, for the last time. The next day, the 9th of November, is known in London as Lord Mayor's Day, because on that morning the new Lord Mayor takes of- fice in the Guildhall. He drives thence through the ward of which he is alderman and pro- ceeds in gaudy procession to the courts of law within the bounds of Westminster. Before his coach are running footmen, and there is a long procession of the carriages of the aldermen and of the heads of the several guilds and the main body of his own guild, all in their best official gowns. The banners of the guilds, their beadles, and pageants which vary according to each Lord Mayor's taste, make up a wonder- ful show, which as it winds in and out the narrow streets of the city enlivens them with brilliant color. Though often decried because it obstructs business for one day, should the progress of modern times abolish the custom it would be regretted by all who have witnessed it. The Lord Mayor is presented to the Lord Chief Justice of England, takes an oath of fidehty, and calls on the judges of the several divisions of the High Court of Justice and in- vites them to dinner. The judges always reply somewhat haughtily that some of them will at- tend, and the Lord Mayor then returns to the city, in which for a year he is to be the great- est person, obliged to give place only when the Queen herself comes. THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. ENTRANCE TO BREWERS HALL. That evening he presides at a splendid feast in the Guildhall, at which he entertains many of the great people of England. There are judges in scarlet and ermine, foreign ambassa- dors covered with orders, Knights of the Gar- ter in blue ribbons and Knights of the Bath in red ribbons and stars, old admirals in blue, old generals in scarlet, and perhaps some Oriental potentates, subjects of the Empress of India, blazing with pearls and diamonds. The company is seated in the fine old common hall of the city of London, and at the end of it are Gog and Magog, the successors of a long line of city giants in old times carried in the Lord Mayor's procession, but now perched on great brackets at the end of the hall and never moved. Before Geoffrey of Monmouth was superseded by Hume and Freeman and Green, the citizens of London, on the faith of his account, beHeved themselves descended from the ancient Trojans; and these figures represented two heroes, Corinaeus and Got- magot, whose exploits formed part of the imaginary wars of the Trojans and the abo- rigines of Britain. On the walls of the hall are costly marble monuments to Nelson and .Wellington and Chatham and Pitt, heroes and statesmen ad- mired by the city and entertained in that hall when at the height of their fame. A fine ham- THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. mer-beam wooden roof rests upon the solid old walls and gives warmth to their cold, gray hue. The Lord Mayor with his most illustrious guests comes into the hall where the general company is already seated, and, after walking all round with blasts of trumpets, takes his seat, and the banquet begins. Seated at the tables of the guilds whose members elected the Lord Mayor, whose banners ornamented his proces- sion, and to one of which he himself must belong. He often belongs to more than one, and, when elected Lord Mayor, if not already a member of one of the twelve great companies, some- times becomes one. These twelve great com THE BREWERS DOORWAY. may be seen many men in gowns edged with fur and wearing golden chain-like collars end- ing in front in great jeweled badges. Foreign- ers, unlearned in the manners and customs of the city of London, often think that these splendid individuals, whose aspect is always one of grave dignity suitable to their costly ornamentation, are great English nobles wear- ing the decorations of orders of knighthood. It is easy to say who they are, but those who have tried know that there are few tasks more diffi- cult than to explain their status and functions to an inquiring Frenchman. They are the masters and wardens of the London companies. panics are the Mercers, the Grocers, the Dra- pers, the Fishmongers, the Goldsmiths, the Skinners, the Merchant Tailors, the Haber- dashers, the Salters, the Ironmongers, the Vintners, and the Clothworkers. Each of them has a hall in the city, vast estates, curious usages, ancient royal charters, various public duties, and fixed days for feasts. Besides the 12 great companies, there are 80 smaller ones, T)^ of which have no hall. There are thus more than fifty halls, in every one of which something curious is to be seen ; but they are hard to find and do not seek to entice the curious. The front door of the hall 8 THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF lONDON. FAfADE, BREWERS HALL. is often indistinguishable from the doors of offices or warehouses near it. No label pro- claims what the building is, even when the door is adorned with sculpture and is in the midst of a great mass of carved stonework. You might look at the hall of the mercers in Cheapside — the first of the great companies — from Bucklersbury and wonder why the great figure of Charity as a woman looking after chubby stone children was placed there; but no traveler, however experienced, could guess that those great closed doors, with smaller iron gates always locked before them, led into the hall and other buildings of a guild of ex- KITCHEN, BREWERS HALL. THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. traordinary wealth and great antiquity. In a Aladdin when the palace appeared. You enter few cases a small and insignificant brass plate a great paneled hall decorated with armorial near a bell-handle bears the word "Beadle," bearings, with portraits, and with banners. You or sometimes even lifts the veil of mystery a are in the very heart of the city of London, little higher and records a name, as "Weav- where land is worth ^i 00,000 or more an FIREPLACE IN COURT-ROOM OF BREWERS HALL. ers' Hall." To ring the bell requires nearly as much courage as that of Jack the Giant-killer when he blew the horn that hung at the giant's gate. The beadle, or more often the sub- beadle, — for the beadle himself is too great to be lightly disturbed, — appears. You feel instantly that you are intruding, that you had no right to ring, and that you are in much the position of a man who has impertinently rung at the door of a private house and asked to see the draw- ing-room. If you have an introduction, — above all, if you know any one on the court of the company, as its governing body is called, — the beadle unbends a little and you are admitted. It is only by frequent allusion to childish fairy tales that the results of explorations of the city can be illustrated. You feel like Vol. XXXVII. acre, yet there is a delicious garden, a court- yard recalling Italy, a splashing fountain, or a noble old tree. This element of surprise, of contrast between the rushing crowd in the street outside and the perfect fourteenth-cen- tury stillness within the halls of these ancient guilds, adds much to the pleasure of seeing curious things at which you are not asked to look. You feel in a few minutes how great a thing it is to be a merchant tailor or a cloth- worker or a grocer, superlative and unattain- able, and you walk round the hall with the beadle in a deferential, humble frame of mind only comparable to the sensation of a pilgrim who is just about to kiss or has just finished kissing the toe of his holiness the Pope. The halls of nearly all the companies were 2. lO THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON, consumed in the great fire, so that most of of grocers, a vmtner of vintners. One or two their buildings date from the last years of the good histories of particular companies have house of Stuart, and in later times some have been written by members, but all the general been rebuilt in a style of profuse magnificence, accounts are deficient in thoroughness. It Nevertheless there is hardly one which does must be remembered too that these ancient not contain some picturesque bit of architect- corporations suffered a terrible shock at the ure or wood-carving, curious portrait, quaintly hands of the law-officers of Charles II., who carved figure, beautifully illuminated charter, forced open their muniment chests, asked why DOORWAY OF BANQUETING HALL, BREWERS COMPANY. or splendid piece of plate. The wood-carving in many is superb, — in none finer than in the Brewers' Hall, — and the combination of the dark color of old oak with the bright tinct- ures of painted armorial bearings occurs in endless and always picturesque variety. The quiet self-content and the half-private char- acter of the guilds have prevented a thorough investigation of their history. They themselves feel, as any one who with the feeling of own- ership dines often in such halls as theirs must come to feel, that no one but one of themselves could do them justice; that a haberdasher alone could write of haberdashers, a grocer and wherefore about everything, and demanded their money or their lives. The quo warranto was hardly forgotten when more modern at- tacks began : royal commissions were threat- ened, and the guilds which had never done harm, and thought that merit enough, were perpetually asked why they did not do good, and those who obviously did good, why they did not do more, by endless practicers of cheap virtue and easy benevolence, and by more reputable and respectable persons who thought their position anomalous and wished to make it less so. Thus assailed from time to time, but so far 2 HE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. II s-urviving assault, no wonder that the com- In their early days there were tilts in Cheap- panies are a Httle suspicious of strangers and side, and the King of England used to sit in a not too anxious to admit criticising historians, gallery near the Church of St. Mary-le-Bow The oldest of the companies began hfe, as to watch them. The present beautiful tower they assert, as an association of saddle-makers of the church was built by Wren after the fire ; with a common meeting-place in Cheapside but to commemorate the old days of tilting DOORWAY, HALL OK THE DRAl'ERS. not far from the wall of a college of secular priests dedicated to St. Martin. The College of St. Martin flourished from the days of Ed- ward the Confessor to those of Henry VIII., and its site is still called St. Martin's-le- Grand. It is the General Post-office ; and not far from it, still in Cheapside, from the days of the last Saxon king to those of Queen Victoria, have dwelt the Company of Saddlers. and the royal gallery, he placed a little railed balcony in the tower on the part looking into Cheapside. With what eyes of connoisseurs must the saddlers have looked on as Sir Ro- land's shock flung Sir Oliver from the saddle, which remained unstirred ; and when a foreign knight's girths burst and he fell vanquished, they must have aj^proved and said, " Not one of our saddles, that ! " 12 THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. Farther down on the same side of Cheap- s.ide, beyond the Church of St. Mary-le-Bow, is a block of stone buildings with an ornate modern door decorated in the middle with sculpture. It lies between Ironmonger lane and Old Jewry. This is the property of the mercers, one of the richest of the great companies, and here is their hall on the site, as very old Lon- don tradition says, of the house of Gilbert, father of Thomas a Becket, for so many centuries the pride of the citizens of London as St. of the days when Kent had a king of its own. At the end of the court is the magnificent hall of the Grocers' Company. Their records es- caped the fire, and few companies have such full means of explaining their history in detail. On June 12, 1345, a number of pepperers, as the grocers were then styled, met together at dinner by agreement at the town mansion of the Abbot of Bury in St. Mary Axe. They talked their common affairs over and agreed to form themselves into a voluntary associa- ROOM IN DRAPERS HALL. Thomas of Canterbury. Queen Elizabeth's grandfather's grandfather. Sir Geoffrey Bullen, was a Lord Mayor of this company. Dukes of Newcastle and Somerset, Earls of Salisbury, of Coventry, of Wiltshire, and of Denbigh, and Viscounts Camden have all sprung from pros- perous mercers. Somewhat farther down, where Cheapside becomes the Poultry, is St. Mildred's Court, near which till a few years ago stood the Church of St. Mildred — a holy Kentish lady tion to settle trade disputes, to help poor mem- bers, and to say prayers for the souls of the departed members. They took St. Anthony for their patron, elected two wardens to pre- side over them and a chaplain to pray for them. Ever since, they have met each year on St. Anthony's day and dined together, electing new wardens apd crowning them with garlands. In 1427 they bought some land in Old Jewry, a street leading out of Cheapside, there built a hall, and there THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. 13 remain to this day. After their association had been in existence eighty-four years the grocers obtained a charter from the king, in the year 1429, and soon after were given the pubhc duty of inspecting and cleansing all the spices sold in London. King Charles II. became their master, and they always dine on the day of his birth, the 29th of May. At the end of his reign, in 1685, they were nearly de- stroyed by the tyrannical proceedings under which the king tried to seize their charters and abolish their privileges and those of Lon- don and other cities. They just managed to survive the horrors of the quo warranto^ as this proceeding was called, and joyfully elected Wilham III. master when he came to the trade, was nearly destroyed by Charles II., and has since steadily increased in riches which by the changes in the nature of commerce have worn away all its medieval functions except the happy one of promoting good-fel- lowship among men. Not less magnificent than the grocers' is the hall of the drapers in Throgmorton street. The hall was rebuilt in 1881, and, with the great staircase leading to it and the smaller dependent rooms, is in a style of profuse splen- dor of carving, molding, and gilding, combined with a sort of costly solidity, which without much real artistic beauty produces a pictur- esque grandeur not unsuited to a society of wealthy merchants and the elaborate and hos- FIREPLACE, DRAPERS HALL. throne and made civil liberty once more secure. From his day to our own they have grown richer, while their functions as cleansers and in- spectors of spices have slowly become obsolete. Now with much good-fellowship and cheer- ful hospitality they administer charities, do good in other ways and harm to no one ; so that all citizens may heartily join in their grace, " God preserve the Church, the Queen, and the worshipful Company of Grocers ! Root and branch, may it flourish forever ! " Such, with slight variations in detail, has been the history of the companies. Each began as a voluntary association, received in the fourteenth century or later a charter from the crown, exercised control over its especial pitable feasts that it celebrates. The street in front is filled all day with people making bar- gains, and on the opposite side is the Stock Ex- change, overflowing with shouting, business- doing stock-brokers. What a contrast between the interiors into which those opposite doors lead! On the Stock Exchange side, business going on at its fastest pace, rushing and crowd- ing ; on the grocers' side, within the door a quiet quadrangle such as you would expect to see in a palace at Florence, a gorgeous staircase on one side leading to carved and gilded spacious rooms, empty and deserted most of the day- time, or used by a few worshipful gentlemen quietly transacting charitable a flairs, lively only on a feast-day ; and beyond this court 14 THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. a delightful garden with a fountain. The dra- pers say that Henry Fitz Elwin, first Mayor of London, was a member of their company; and famous as he was, there have since been so affected by the fire, and near them a staircase leads to the cellars stored with wine. In one subterranean chamber is the plate — silver dishes as large as sponge-baths, others like many great and famous drapers, that if anti- foot-baths, endless cups and tankards, goblets quaries, as they threaten, prove Henry ■ Fitz and salvers and salt-cellars and hundreds of Elwin not to have been one, the glory of the silver forks and spoons. A delightful old man, company will still be brilliant. It was certainly neat and courteous as a cathedral's dean, was THE CEDAR ROOM, SKINNERS HALL. one of their members, Sir Thomas Adams, who was sent on the part of the city of London to invite King Charles 11. to return to the throne of his ancestors. Private munificence has often been a characteristic of the high oflicers of these guilds. Many have founded colleges and schools and benefited the poor of their birth- places in other ways. Sir Thomas Adams founded the professorship of Arabic at Cam- bridge and a good school in his native town. Not far from Throgmorton street, and in the Threadneedle street which they had a chief share in naming, is the hall of the merchant tailors. Outside, it looks like a modern oflice, but on entering, the visitor comes into a spa- cious quadrangle, round which are ranged the halls and the library and the meeting-rooms of the company. In one of these are two beau- tiful pieces of embroidery, — palls which were used to cover the cofiins of members of the guild when carried to the grave accompanied by the surviving members singing the dirge, for this was one of the duties of every good liveryman. The kitchen has some ancient masonry with pointed arches, too solid to be for many years butler of this company. When he showed the plate, he used always to open with pride a particular cabinet in this plate- room. It was filled with small pepper-pots and represented one of the achievements of his life. " Would you believe it, sir, when I became butler the company had but one small pepper-pot ; the waiters used to carry one in their pockets for the livery." The deficiency is now supplied : the liverymen have nearly a pepper-pot each. Abi viator I reckon up thy days and deeds ; canst thou rival what this but- ler has done — hast thou multiplied pepper-pots from one to infinity and made a destitute livery happy and luxurious ? A little farther south, in Fenchurch street, is the hall of the ironmongers. Izaak Walton was their master, and there are his arms to this day decorating the paneled hall ; while on the staircase, in the hall, indeed everywhere, are to be seen rampant lizards or salamanders, the crest and supporters of the armorial achieve- ment of the company. Leaving the ironmongers with regret and walking down Fenchurch street to the end, THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. 15 SKINNERS COURT-ROOM. you come in view of the graceful cupola of the Church of St. Magnus, one of Wren's most suc- cessful designs. Just opposite to it, on the west side of London Bridge, is the Fishmon- gers' Hall, a building of gray stone with a pediment towards the river. Billingsgate mar- ket is hard by, and the fishmongers have the power of seizing and destroying putrid fish. Their hall covers the site of the riverside house of Sir William Walworth, the stout Lord Mayor who slew Wat Tyler. Farther up the river is Dowgate, a very an- cient landing-place, and near it and Dow- gate Hill, is the Skinners' Hall. How long it has been there is shown by the fact that the street opposite is called Budge Row from the budge, or dressed lambskin, which the craft used of old to hang out for sale in the row. Happy the man who is entertained by the Guild of the Body of Christ of the Skinners of London, as the company style themselves in all official documents. A beadle receives him with lofty courtesy, and calls out his name as he ascends a handsome staircase. At the top the guest suddenly finds himself in the august presence of the master and ward- ens. They shake hands with him and bid him welcome as if he was the one guest who, long invited and never coming, had at last appeared and satisfied a lifelong wish on their part to see him. The guest seems to have entered into their very hearts, when suddenly he feels that they can smile on him no more, and that the absorb- ing attention with which they received him is exchanged in an instant for total neglect. It is merely that these high functionaries are receiving another guest, and so another and another till the list is complete and dinner is served. All dinners of all companies are noble feasts, and the tables of the great companies are brilliant with splendid pieces of plate. Among the skinners' plate are some curious flagons made in form of beasts and birds. The skinners like to tell how these are used. On the day of election of master and wardens, the court, or governing body of the guild, is assem- bled in the hall, and ten blue-coat boys, with the almsmen of the company, the master and wardens, all in procession, preceded by trum- peters blowing blasts, march round the hall. Three great birds of silver are brought in and handed to the master and wardens. The birds' heads are screwed off, and the master and wardens drink wine from these quaint flagons. Three caps of maintenance are then brought in. The old master puts one on. It will not fit him. He hands it to another, and he to another, and both declare that it does not fit. Then it reaches the skinner who is to be master for the year. Wonderful to relate, it fits him to a nicety. The trumjieters flourish their trum- pets, the skinners and their almsmen shout for joy. The wardens next find out whom the cap fits, with the other two caps of mainte- nance, and so the high authorities of the guild are installed for the year. Their court-room is paneled with red cedar, with deep gilded i6 THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. classical moldings, and when lighted of an evening is rich beyond compare to look at and exhales a delicious odor — a true cedar parlor, in which Sir Charles Grandison might well be glad to bow forever over the hand of Miss Harriet Byron. Close to the Skinners' Hall are those of the a good broth for it and do it into the foyle of paste and close it up fast, and bake it well and so serve it forth ; with the head of one of the birds stuck at the one end of the foyle and a great tail at the other and divers of his long feathers set in cunningly all about him." St. Paul's ends the noble vista of Cannon STATIONERS HALL. dyers and the tallow-chandlers and the inn- holders ; and that of the Mystery of the Vint- ners is in the same region of the city. A few yards off, on the other side of Cannon street, in St. Swithin's lane, is the spacious but not very interesting hall of the salters. For arms they bear three salt-cellars, springing (or casting out) salt ; and as they all firmly believe them- selves to be " salt of the earth, ye virtuous few," so do they often repeat their motto, Sal sapit omnia (" Salt savoreth everything "). They have a pie of their own, a most choice pasty, in which their favorite ingredient has many companions. The date of the recipe of this delicious piece of cookery is 1394. " Take pheasant, hare, and chicken, or capon, of each one with two partridges, two pigeons, and two coneys and smite them in pieces and pick clean away from all the bones that ye may and therewith do them into a foyle [a case] of good paste, made craftily in the like- ness of a bird's body, with the livers and hearts, two kidnies of sheep and forcemeats and eggs made into balls. Cast thereto powder of pep- per, salt^ spice, eysell, and mushrooms to make street to the west and affords ample food for reflection as you walk from St. Swithin's lane to Ave Maria lane. The lane called after the angelic salutation is the first turn to the right as you go from the west of St. Paul's down Ludgate Hill. A new building on the left of it bears the inscription, Vei'biim Domini ma?iet in (Eienmm, and this pious expression is the motto of the company of stationers. An arch- way in the new warehouse bearing the motto leads to their most picturesque hall. It shuts out from the world a quiet garden belonging to the company, at the back of the Church of St. Martin, Ludgate, and adjoining it are the court-room, stock-room, and kitchen of the company. They keep the copyright register for England, and all their members are book- men ; that is, printers or publishers. The hall is of a most collegiate aspect, spacious and lofty, with deeply recessed windows and rich oak carving. A good modern colored window of St. CeciHa, the patroness of the company, a series of banners hanging from the cornice on each side, and numerous painted shields of the chief officers, some very bright, some THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. 17 toned down by time, give pleasant, harmoni- ous coloring to this well-proportioned hall. A fireplace in the court-room is a wonderful example of exquisite wood-carving. When the business of the court was tedious, perhaps Mr. Samuel Richardson's mind wandered to the virtue of Pamela, or the villainy of Lovelace. It cannot be asserted as a proved fact of literary first. Within is the most exquisite of the halls of the guilds — an oblong room lighted above by a cupola, round the interior base of which is carved a great wreath of foliage, a unique design by Inigo Jones. The architect's portrait by Vandyke hangs on the walls, and all the other pictures deserve study. Over the man- telpiece is a most carefully painted Lely, " the STAIRWAY, HALL OF THE GIKDLEKS. history, but it is at least very likely, that some of Clarissa's letters were written in that court- room. Little did the country ladies who wept over them think of them as the compositions of the stout stationer in a wig whose portrait looks down at his successors in the Mystery as they transact their business in the court-room. Walking from Stationers' Hall down War- wick lane, once the abode of the King-maker, you come into Newgate street and so, cross- ing by Christ's Hospital, reach Aldersgate, from which a few yards bring you to Monk- well street, where is Barbers' Hall. A door- way in a great warehouse and a board with the words " Barbers' Hall " are all that you see at Vol. XXXVIL— 3. Countess of Richmond as St. Agnes," given to the company by the founder of the Bank of England. Opposite this is a famous Holbein of Henry VHL presenting an act to the bar- bers, or, as they then were, the barber-sur- geons, while his physicians kneel on his right hand. King Henry united the surgeons, then unable to live as a separate guild, to the bar- bers, and it was not till 1745 that they were separated. The surgeons left behind them all the records of their craft in early days, se\eral splendid pictures, and much plate. The barbers still drink out of a silver-gilt cup of exquisite renaissance work given to them by Henry VHL, and out of another silver cup, adorned with THE GUILDS OF THE CITY OF LONDON. oak leaves and having bells shaped like acorns, given to them by Charles II. At the princi- pal feasts the wardens wear silver-gilt crowns, and as they enjoy the splendor of their plate, to which also Queen Anne made an. addi- tion, declare that no company has so many royal gifts of silver. The draught is kept from the worshipful mystery of barbers while the secrets of the guild and that he would sooner die than reveal it. It is called a mar- row pudding, but the "marrow " is " Mary," an allusion to Our Lady, and marrow there is none in this delicious, mysterious confection. Addle street, where the brewers dwell, is not far from Monkwell street. The Brewers' Hall is one of the finest examples of architectural BANQUETING HALL OF THE GIRDLERS. they dine by a beautiful old screen of painted leather, and outside the door of the hall is the shell of a great turtle with their arms painted on it, and given to them by the Merry Monarch. A quaint little staircase with fine old chandelier of brass-work leads to their parlor, whither they adjourn after feasts for coffee. If the salters have a pie, the barbers have a pudding of their own, but the recipe will not be known till doomsday ; for the mas- ter, when asked of what this pudding con- sisted, declared that the recipe was one of work and interior decoration of the period succeeding the great fire of London. The hah is entered by a prominent gate with the brew- ers' arms above, which leads into a court-yard^ round which are the buildings of the company. The staircase, the hall, and the court-room are equally fine. Near the Brewers' is the Weavers' Hall, and not far off, in Basinghall street, dwell the girdlers. They have a marble staircase and an oak-paneled hall worthy of Italy, and in the very heart of London a mul- berry garden where they can pick ripe mul- UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OF LORD NELSON, berries from the tree and enjoy as delicious a repose as if they dwelt in some city like Bruges, whence commerce has long since fled, while traces of civic grandeur survive, instead of in London, where commerce is at its height and the moss of decay has not yet begun to grow. A little way from Basinghall street the goldsmiths have a magnificent hall, in which the purity of all the gold and silver plate-work of England is attested by the guild and stamped with its mark. Nearly opposite the goldsmiths the haberdashers have dwelt for four hundred and ten years, under the patronage of St. Cath- erine of Alexandria. Near the halls of most of the guilds are the churches in which for many centuries the mas- ters and wardens have attended service, and in them are to be seen many monuments of past generations of masters and wardens. Sir An- drew Judd, a great skinner, who died in 1588, kneels in armor with his four sons, his wife, and daughter at perpetual prayer in the Church of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate. In the same church Sir John Spencer, the great cloth- worker, who died in 1609, reclines bearded and in state armor, with Dame Spencer at his side and their daughter dutifully kneeling in prayer at her parents' feet. Sir Hugh Ham- mersley, knight and haberdasher, who died in 1636, kneels with his wife in St. Andrew's undershaft; and there, sitting in an alcove in gown and ruff, with a book before him, is carved the effigy of John Stow, the historian of London, a man proud of her glories, learned in the history of everything within her walls, and acquainted with every church and every guild. He wrote in the reign of Queen Eliza- beth, but whoever wishes at this day to study London city will do well to make Stow the companion of his walks. In spite of the ravages of the great fire and the still greater demolitions of later times, the parish churches and the halls of the ancient guilds of London open a view of past times such as is to be seen in few cities of Europe. Normaji Moore. UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OF LORD NELSON TO SIR THOMAS TROUBRIDGE. '^-^ROFESSOR J. R. SEE- LEY, in his recently pub- lished " Short History of Napoleon L," has said that " the heroism of Nel- son has always been duly recognized, but the im- mense greatness of his work seems to have been generally overlooked. He reconquered the Mediterranean for Eng- land ; he dissolved, at a blow, all Napoleon's dream of Oriental conquest ; he broke up the armed neutrality." It is to the latter achievement that the fol- lowing letters of Lord Nelson refer. They treat exclusively of the expedition to the Bal- tic, and range from the beginning of March, 1 80 1, until the end of May in the same year; the first letter having been written before the fleet left Spithead, the last after Nelson had left Revel. The series comprises his own account of a time which, although it eventually turned to his glory, yet, as these letters too plainly and sadly show, was embittered by an under- current of suffering, partly from ill health, and pardy from the injustice done to his genius and his patriotism. When the moment of emergency came, it was inevitable that Nelson should take the lead and win the battle, which, as is so well known, he did in defiance of the orders of the admiral under whom he had been placed. Per- haps some additional light may be shed on the details of the expedition to the Baltic by the publication of these letters, which were addressed by Nelson to his long-tried friend and companion in arms. Admiral Sir Thomas Troubridge. In the collection of Nelson's letters printed by Sir Harris Nicolas in 1844 are some written to this oflicer in earlier days ; but the present series of twenty-four has never hitherto seen the light, having been carefully put by and treasured up by his descendants for three generations.^ They are here given with- out alteration; every word is fresh, strong, and natural as it fell from the pen of Nelson, inditing his thoughts to his intimate friend. The letters are on quarto paper, in good black ink ; the writ- ing vigorous, pecuHar, clearly to be read in the main, and written necessarily with the left hand. The naval officer to whom they are ad- dressed was the first Sir Thomas Troubridge ; and a brief reference to his character and career will be requisite to explain how the correspondence came about, and to show what qualities they were which gained for him the confidence of Nelson. Their friend- 1 They now belong to Sir Thomas Troubridge, fourth Baronet. 20 UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OE LORD NELSON ' I ', J- I -f .■ , ,il 111". Mil tS l!' j I ' li 11 , i 1 LORD NELSON. (painted by HEINRICH FUGER in 1800 AT VIENNA. NOW IN NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY.) ship began on board the Sea Horse ^ in 1774, where both were rated as midshipmen ; and the first world-renowned battle they fought together was that off Cape St. Vincent, under Sir John Jervis (from that time Earl St. Vin- cent), on the 14th of February, 1797 — "the most glorious Valentine's day," as Nelson called it. Captain Troubridge was in the thickest part of this severe engagement. His ship, the CicUoden^ and Nelson's, the Captain, elicited the remark from Sir John Jervis, " I put my faith in those two ships." It is well known how greatly Lord St. Vincent prized the merits of Troubridge, calling him " the Bayard of the British navy; the ablest ad- viser and best executive officer in the navy, with honor and courage bright as his sword." The generous heart of Nelson also acknowl- edged the value of the advice and assistance which Captain Troubridge was well qualified to give; in fact, his character and conduct exactly suited Nelson's ideas. He was a typi- cal specimen of the ideal British sailor; with invincible pluck, animated, impetuous, slightly obstreperous manners, and conversation char- acterized by all the emphatic plainness of his day and profession. He possessed an unusual amount of knowledge of all that related to the service, an acute discernment (as was often proved), and an excellent judgment. Strong and ready in both mind and body, his hand- some face and fine presence were as welcome to his friends as they were distasteful to his en- emies. He did good service at the luckless siege of Santa Cruz, when Nelson had intended to wrest Teneriffe from the Spaniards. On that occasion, when the little hero lost his right arm, Troubridge got the English troops, consisting of a body of some three hundred marines and artillerymen, safely off the island — where they encountered eight thousand Spaniards — by threatening the immediate destruction of the TO SIR THOMAS TROUBRIDGE. 21 town by fire unless his terms were accepted. A year later, in 1798, when the full stress of Nelson's efforts to baffle the French was directed to the Mediterranean, Troubridge accompanied him and witnessed — alas for himself, only witnessed, his ship being aground, and out of " the full tide of happiness," as Nelson expressed it — the first of those three great victories by sea achieved by the fiery spirit and profound skill of one man, without shell, steam, or other modern appliance. After the battle of the Nile the squadron moved towards Naples, and in 1799 Troubridge, who had been told off to seize the islands in the bay of Naples, preparatory to the recapture of Naples from the French, succeeded in tak- ing and investing Procida, Capri, and Ischia, and received as an acceptable present the head of one of the Jacobin officials who had been in possession. " Sir, as a faithful subject of my king, Ferdinand the IV., I have the honor of presenting to you the head of a Jacobin, whom I killed as he was running away." So ran the letter which accompanied the gift, and on the cover are the words, in Captain Troubridge's writing, " A jolly fellow." As the war was pushed on, St. Elmo, Capri, and Gaeta surrendered to Captain Troubridge, whose share in the matter is thus described by Nelson in a dispatch : " The liberation of the kingdom of Naples from the French robbers will not be less acceptable from being princi- pally brought about by part of the crews of his Majesty's ships under my orders, under the command of Captain Troubridge. His merits speak for themselves." The taking of Civita Vecchia .and the city of Rome com- pleted Troubridge's services in the Mediter- ranean, for which he received a baronetcy ; and after the return of the fleet to England, in 1800, he became one of the lords of the Admiralty. It was to the Admiralty that the letters in the following series were addressed ; and the packets which Lord Nelson so often mentions were letters to and from Lady Hamilton, which Troubridge undertook to convey be- tween these friends. I^etters from Nelson to Troubridge on the subject of Lady Hamilton were many, but these have all been recently destroyed. Sir Thomas Troubridge was returned for the borough of Great Yarmouth in 1802; he became admiral of the " Blue " in 1804, and of the " White " in 1805. It was after he had been appointed to the command of the seas on the eastern coast of India that another command — that of the Cape of Good Hope — was given him; and it was on his way from Madras to the Cape that the fatal shipwreck took place which closed his career before he had attained his fiftieth year. The details are wrapped in Vol. XXXVII.— 4. obscurity. The Blenheim was crazy, and the admiral knew it, but trusted to his own re- sources. He was accompanied by a frigate and a sloop of war. They sailed on the 12th of January, 1807, and encountered a hurricane which raged in February in the Indian seas east of Madagascar. The captain of a French frigate, the Seifiilla7ite ^ gave information, many years afterward, at Plymouth, that he had sighted the Bletiheim near the island of Rod- rigues, in a heavy gale of wind, on February the 1 8th, 1807. News came, more than a year after the event, by way of Calcutta, — having been brought thither by a frigate which had touched at the island of St. Mary's, — that in the month of February two vessels had arrived in distress at that small island off the coast of Madagascar, had put in for repairs, and had sailed again, the description of the offi- cers exactly answering to Sir Thomas Trou- bridge and his companions. The inhabitants of Bourbon Island had, according to the same authority, caught sight, after the gale had sub- sided, of a line-of-battle ship in distress, with an admiral's white flag flying. No other tid- ings of the unfortunate ship and the brave ad- miral ever reached England; nor have such slight clues been sufficient to point to the spot, or to fix the date, where and when the Bknhei/n foundered. It was in February, 1801, that Lord Nel- son hoisted his flag on board the St. George, in preparation for accompanying Sir Hyde Parker to the Baltic, under whose orders he was placed. The first letter now printed here is undated, and appears, as has been mentioned, to have been written from Spithead. The second was written during the passage from Portsmouth to Great Yarmouth, a long and tedious one, from calms, contrary winds, and thick fog. The third letter begins the series, written after they had sailed for the north. Nelson arrived in Yarmouth Roads on the 6th of March, and the squadron set sail at daylight on the 12th. The expedition to the Baltic was undertaken in consequence of an alliance entered into by Sweden, Denmark, and Russia against England, with the object of curtailing her naval rights. The point in dispute, which led eventually to the battle of the Baltic, was the principle of" armed neutral- ity," which denied the right to search vessels belonging to neutral powers in times of war — a right given by the old code of international maritime law. The English, who were mas- ters of the sea, ignored the new principle, and captured, in July, 1800, a Danish merchant- man, the Freya, for refusing to allow her cargo to be examined. An embassy was sent from England to Denmark to negotiate tlic matter; but when the vessels which conveyed it passed 22 UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OF LORD NELSON the sound and anchored off the beautiful city of Copenhagen, the ire of the Russian em- peror was aroused at the sight of EngHsh ves- sels in northern waters, and he at once seized all vessels in Russian ports belonging to Eng- land, and aUied himself with Sweden, Den- mark, France, and Prussia against England. These allies insisted upon continuing to abolish the right to search neutral vessels, a principle that favored especially the commerce of France. England as firmly desired to retain the right to molest, examine, and search everything afloat. She resolved still to rule the waves, and, in the face of the naval resources of this powerful league, she sent her little hero to the rescue. He succeeded, although second in command, in winning a victory off Copen- hagen, destroying the Danish navy, and bringing about a change of policy on the part of the alliance. That alliance was dissolved by Alexander, Emperor of Russia, who suc- ceeded the murdered Paul just before Nelson, with Sir Hyde Parker's squadron, reached the sound. LETTERS FROM LORD NELSON TO SIR THOMAS TROUBRIDGE. Aye, my dear Troubridge, had you been here to-day you would have thought, had the Pilot arrived a fortnight hence, there would have been time enough. Fame says we are to sail the 20th, and I believe it, unless you pack us off. I was in hopes that Sir Hyde would have had a degree of confidence, but no ap- pearance of it. I know he has from Nepean the plan of the fortifications of the New Isl- ands off Copenhagen and the intended station of some Danish ship. I have, be assured, no other desire of knowing anything than that I may the better execute the service, but I have no right to know, and do not say a word of it to Lord St. Vincent, for he may think me very impertinent in endeavoring to dive into the plans of my commander-in-chief, but the water being clear, I can see the bottom with half an eye. I begged Domet^ only to use the St. George and we would do anything. The Sqiiirrell will be refitted in two hours to- morrow from a list of complaints of two sides of paper. The Gun Brigs are in wretched or- der, but they will get on. Poor Domet seemed in a pack of troubles. Get rid of us, my dear friend, and we shall not be tempted to lay abed till 11 o'clock. If the Earl would give Josiah a ship in greater forwardness, and send him abroad, it would be an act of kindness. I feel all your kindness, but perhaps I am now unfit to command, my only ambition is to obey. I have no wish ungratified in the ser- 1 Sir Hyde Parker's captain, and captain of the fleet. vice, SO you may say, but I told you I was unhappy. Sunday Morning. Since the departure of Lieutenant Yule for Nisbet's Ship, neither Hardy or myself can put our finger on a good lieutenant, but Hardy has just recollected one, the present first lieut. of the Aw^ora^ Richard Hockie. If he is still in her, chuses to come here, and the Admiralty to appoint him, he can take a pas- sage and bedding in either Elephant or Edgar if she is still at Spithead. You are right, my dear Troubridge, in desiring me not to write such letters to the Earl. Why should I ? as my own unhappiness concerns no one but my- selfi It shall remain fixed in rny own breast, but believe me I shall ever be your faithful Nelson and Bronte. "St. George," March 4th, 1801. My Dear Troubridge : You will see by my public letter the cause of the Warrior'' s going on shore. We have a damned stupid. Dog on board, and as obstinate as the Devil. He objects to having assistance to carry this ship thro' the Gully although the moment be- fore he complained that having been up all night he could not stay up this night, there- fore wanted another Pilot. However I shall have a sharp eye on him. We shall weigh about II o'clock. I wrote you last night, but my letter was too late. Ever yours faithfully. Nelson and Bronte. Lt. Layman was very active last night. "St. George," March nth, 1801. My Dear Troubridge : It is not that I care what support I may have as far as relates to myself, but the glorious support I am to have marks me ; but let jealousy, cabal, and art conspire to do their worst, the St. George is and shall be fit for battle. I will trust to my- self alone, and Hardy will support me. Far, far, very far from good health, this conduct will and shall rouse me for the moment, but we cannot get off. My information is, I dare say, better than your's. The Lojidon was un- moored when the signal was made to prepare for sea, but now she is safely moored. I shall trouble you to forward any letters to me and from me to my friends, and ever Believe me your most affectionate Nelson and Bronte. You will make very happy by getting him a ship to go abroad. Hardy has been on board of Domett, who told Hardy to tell me he did not form the*order of Battle. By that, he sees as I do. Captn. Otway has not been on board all yesterday or today. Domett hopes to sail tomorrow. TO SIR THOMAS TROUBRIDGE. 23 "St. George," 10 o'clock, March nth, 1801. My Dear Troubridge : The Signal is made to prepare to unmoor at 12 o'clock, but I think the wind being at SSE and very dirty, that our Chief may defer it. If it rains a little harder the wind will fly to the westward. Now we can have no desire for staying, for her Ladyship is gone, and the Ball for Friday night knocked up by your and the Earl's un- politeness, to send gentlemen to sea instead of dancing with nice white gloves. I will only say as yet I know not that we are even going to Baltic except from newspapers, and at sea I cannot go out of my ship but with serious inconvenience. I could say much, but pa- tience. I shall knock down my bulk heads throughout the ship and then let what will happen, the St. George — she has only to trust to herself — will be prepared. Make my best regards to the Earl and Believe me ever your affectionate friend. Nelson and Bronte. Every day and hour shows me Hardy's worth. Captn. Thesiger is not so active as Parker. "St. George," March 13th, 1801. Naze of Norway, NE by Compass, 01 Degr. at noon. My Dear Troubridge : When I receive a message from Domett both by Hardy & Murray, there can be no reason why I may not tell it. "Tell Lord Nelson that the present composition of the Van is not my arrange- ment." I had placed Foley ^ and Fremantle^ instead of a 64 and 50, but Sir H. run his pen thro' them & placed them as they stand ; that when I said, " Sir H., will two 64s and a 50 do well together ? " his answer was, " Well, put the Zealous between them." You may make your comments. \ feel mine. It never w^as my desire to serve under this man. He approved and seemed more desirous of it than myself, but I saw it the first moment, and all the fleet see it. George Murray, I have no doubt, will support me, 'and the St. George shall do her duty. To tell me to serve on in this way, is to laugh at me and to think me a greater fool than I am. If this goes on, I hope to be al- lowed to return the moment the fighting busi- ness is over. March i6th. I am yet all in the dark, and am not sure we are bound to the Baldc. Re- ports say (and I only make my remarks from reports) that we are to anchor this side Cron- enburgh to give time for negotiation. I ear- nestly hope this is not true, for I wish' for peace with Denmark, and therefore am clearly of 1 The Zealous, 74. 2 Ganges, 74. opinion that to shew our fleet off Copenhagen would, if in the least wavering, almost ensure it, for I think that the Danish Minister would be a hardy man to put his name to a paper w^iich in a few minutes would, I trust, involve his master's navy, and I hope his capital, in flames. But as I am not in the secret.^ and feel I have a right to speak out, not in the fleet certainly, but in England and to England, my ideas are to get up the Cattegat as soon as possible (we are now standing on a Wind at W. S. W. moderate weather, off the Naze), to send a flag of truce, if such is necessary, to Cronenburgh to say that I should pass the Castle, and that if they did not fire at me, I should not at them. The despatches, if any, for our Minister at Copenhagen, at the same time to be sent. I should certainly pass the Castle whether they fired or not, and send the same message to Copenhagen till negotia- tion was over. Being off that city, I could prevent all additional preparation from being carried on or any more gunboats &c placed outside, whilst I should prepare everything, and the moment the Danish Minister said WAR, he should have enough of it, but he would say peace, and save his honor with his new friends. Thus we should have peace with Denmark to a certainty either hy fair or foul means, but I may be all wrong and the meas- ures pursuing never better. I wish they may, but I doubt. Bold measures from ministers and speedfly executed, meet my ideas. If you were here just to look at us ! I had heard of the manoeuvres off Ushant, but ours beats all ever seen. Would it were all over, I am really sick of it. With my kind respects to the Earl Believe me ever your aftectionate and faithful Nelson and Bronte. March 17th, 1801. "St. George," March 20th, 1801. My Dear Troubridge : It being moder- ate I got on board the London yesterday for an hour, for whatever inattentions may be shown me, nothing of respect shall be want- ing on mine. I was glad to find that he was determined to pass Cronenburgh and to go off Copenhagen in order to give w^eight to our negotiator, and I believe this conduct will give us peace with Denmark. Sir Hyde told me, on my anxiety for going forward with an expedition, that w^e were to go no further without fresh orders.. I hope this is all right, but I am sorry, as I wish to get to Revell before the departure of the fleet. We should recollect it is only twenty hours sail from Cronsted, and that the day the sea is open they sail. I give you 10,000 thanks for your kind 24 UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OE LORD NELSON letters. I shall try and persevere this expedi- tion, and further it is useless to look. I sup- pose we shall anchor this evening about 8 o'clock, between the Koll and Cronenburgh, not only to prepare for battle, for no signal is yet made, although I believe several have followed my example. I have not had a bulk head in the ship since last Saturday. It is not so much that being in the way as to pre- pare people's minds that we are going at it, and that they should have no other thought but how they may best annoy their enemies. Every letter of yours is in the fire, and ever shall, for no good but much harm might arise from their falling into improper hands. What a villain that young underling must be, but I dare say it was only an idle curiosity and not a desire to steal. Botany Bay would be a good berth for him. Both Hardy and myself rejoice that Parker acquits himself so well, and I hope he will get the gold chain and medal for burning a firstrate. y^ pt. 5, the signal is just made to prepare for battle, therefore many of our ships may amuse themselves. We were at quarters and have nothing to do. The wind is getting directly contrary at S.S.W. May God send us success, is the fervent prayer of your most affectionate friend. Nelson and Bronte. I beg my best regards to the Earl. Living or dead, pray send my letters as directed. 9 o'clock, wind at South. Cronenburgh dis- tant 1 8 miles. March 21st, Noon. We anchored last night. It blew fresh all night, and this morning only t^% sail out of 58 were with us. Bellona and i?z/i'j-^^ Ka, m a mes- PLAN OF ABOVE. 44 POLITICAL EXILES AND COMMON CONVICTS AT TOMSK. CROSSING THE RIVER ON A PENDULUM FERRY-BOAT. sage that he finds there ft-om a comrade who has preceded him. Mr. Galkin-Vrasskoi, Chief of the Prison and Exile Department, at last has come to appreciate the significance and importance of these mural inscriptions, and has recently ordered etape officers to see that they are carefully erased. I doubt, how- ever, whether the order will secure the desired results. The prison authorities are constantly outwitted by convicts, and the latter will^^soon learn to write their messages in places where an etape officer would never think of looking for them, but where an experienced convict will discover them at once. Thursday morning, after a day's rest. Cap- tain Gudeem returned with his soldiers to Tomsk, while the convict party resumed its march eastward under guard of a new convoy. I should have been glad to accompany it for a week, and to make a more careful and thor- ough study of etape life; but I had not finished my work in Tomsk, and was obliged to re- turn before Captain Gudeem had transferred the party to the nachalnik of the new convoy. The life of exiles on the road, three days of which I have roughly sketched, continues, with little to break its monotony, for many months. In sunshine and in storm, through dust and through mud, the convicts march slowly but steadily eastward, crossing the great Siberian rivers on pendulum ferry-boats ; toiling up the sides of forest-clad mountains in drenching rains; wading through mire in swampy val- leys; sleeping every night in the heavy mephitic atmosphere of overcrowded etapes, and draw- ing nearer, day by day, to the dreaded mines of the Trans-Baikal. . « George Ke?man. THE CASKET OF OPALS. Deep, smoldering colors of the land and sea Burn in these stones, that, by some mystery, Wrap fire in sleep and never are consumed. Scarlet of daybreak, sunset gleams half spent In thick white cloud ; pale moons that may have lent Light to love's grieving ; rose-illumined snows. And veins of gold no mine depth ever gloomed; All these, and green of thin-edged waves, are there. I think a tide of feeling through them flows With blush and pallor, as if some being of air, — Some soul once human, — wandering, in the snare Of passion had been caught and henceforth doomed In misty crystal here to lie entombed. And so it is, indeed. Here prisoned sleep The ardors and the moods and all the pain That once within a man's heart throbbed. He gave These opals to the woman whom he loved; And now, like glinting sunbeams through the rain. The rays of thought that through his spirit moved Leap out from these mysterious forms again. The colors of the jewels laugh and weep As with his very voice. In them the wave Of sorrow and joy that, with a changing sweep, Bore him to misery or else made him blest. Still surges in melodious, wild unrest. So when each gem in place I touch and take, It murmurs what he thought or what he spake. FIRST OPAL. My heart is like an opal Made to lie upon your breast In dreams of ardor, clouded o'er By endless joy's unrest. And forever it shall haunt you With its mystic, changing ray : Its light shall live when we lie dead, With hearts at the heart of day ! SECOND OPAL. If, from a careless hold. One gem of these should fall, No power of art or gold Its wholeness could recall : The lustrous wonder dies In gleams of irised rain. As hght fades out from the eyes When a soul is crushed by pain. Take heed that from your hold My love you do not cast : Dim, shattered, vapor-cold — That day would be its last. Vol. XXXVII.— 7. IL THIRD OPAL. He won her love ; and so this opal sings With all its fmts in maze, that seem to quake And leap in light, as if its heart luould break. Gleam of the sea. Translucent air. Where every leaf alive w4th glee Glows in the sun without shadow of grief — You speak of spring. When earth takes wing And sunlight, sunlight is everywhere ! Radiant life. Face so fair — Crowned with the gracious glory of wife — Your glance lights all this happy day. Your tender glow And murmurs low Make miracle, miracle, everywhere. Earth takes wing AVith birds — do I care Whether of sorrow or joy they sing ? 46 THE CASKET OF OPALS. No ; for they make not my life nor destroy ! My soul awakes At a smile that breaks In sun ; and sunlight is everywhere ! III. Then dawned a mood of musing thoiightfulness ; As if he doubted whether he could bless Her wayward spirit, through each fickle hour, With love's serenity of flawless power, Or she i^emain a vision, as when first She came to soothe his fancy all athirst. FOURTH OPAL We were alone Moonli2:hted, the perfumed night, like a flower Grew round us and exhaled delight To bless that one sweet hour. You stood where, 'mid the white and gold, The rose-fire through the gloom Touched hair and cheek and garment's fold With soft, ethereal bloom. And when the vision seemed to swerve, 'T was but the flickering shine That gave new grace, a lovelier curve, To every dreamlike line. O perfect vision ! Form and face Of womanhood complete! 0 rare ideal to embrace And hold, from head to feet ! Could I so hold you ever — could Your eye still catch the glow Of mine — it were an endless good : Together we should grow One perfect picture of our love ! . . . Alas, the embers old P'ell, and the moonlight fell, above — Dim, shattered, vapor-cold. IV. What ill befell these lovers ? Shall I say ? What tragedy of petty care and sorrow ? Ye all know, who have lived and loved : if nay, Then those will hiow who live and love io- inorrow. But here at least is what this opal said, The fifth in member: and the next two bore My fancy towards the dim world of the dead. Where men and tvomen dream they live once more : FIFTH OPAL. 1 DREAMED my kisses on your hair Turned into roses. Circling bloom Crowned the loose-lifted tresses there. " O Love," I cried, " forever Dwell wreathed, and perfume-haunted By my heart's deep honey-breath ! " But even as I bending looked, I saw The roses were not; and, instead, there lay Pale, feathered flakes and scentless Ashes upon your hair ! SIXTH OPAL. The love I gave, the love I gave, Wherewith I sought to win you — Ah, long and close to you it clave . With life and soul and sinew ! My gentleness with scorn you cursed You knew not what I gave. The strongest man may die of thirst : My love is in its grave ! SEVENTH OPAL. You say these jewels were accurst — With evil omen fraught. You should have known it from the first ! This was the truth they taught : No treasured thing in heaven or earth Holds potency more weird Than our hearts hold, that throb from birth With wavering flames insphered. And when from me the gems you took, On that strange April day. My nature, too, I gave, that shook With passion's fateful play. The mingled fate my love should give In these mute emblems shone. That 'more intensely burn and live — While I am turned to stone. Listen now to ivhat is said By the eighth opal, flashing red And pale by turns with every breath — The voice of the lover after death. EIGHTH OPAL. I DID not know, before. That we dead could rise and walk ; That our voices, as of yore. Would blend in gentle talk. I did not know her eyes Would so haunt mine after death, Or that she could hear my sighs. Low as the harp-string's breath. THE CASKET OE OPALS. 47 But, ah, last night we met ! From our stilly trance we rose, Thrilled with all the old regret — The grieving that God knows. She asked : " Am I forgiven ? " — " And dost thou forgive ? " I said. Ah! how long for joy we 'd striven! But now our hearts were dead. Alas, for the lips I kissed And the sweet hope, long ago ! On her grave chill hangs the mist; On mine, white lies the snow. VI. Hea7'kening stilly I hear iJiis strain Erom the ninth opaVs v allied vein. NINTH OPAL. In the mountains of Mexico, Where the barren volcanoes throw Their fierce peaks high to the sky, With the strength of a tawny brute That sees heaven but to defy. And the soft, white hand of the snow Touches and makes them mute, Firm in the clasp of the ground The opal is found. By the struggle of frost and fire Created, yet caught in a spell From which only human desire Can free it, what passion profound In its dim, sweet bosom may dwell ! So was it with us, I think. Whose souls were formed on the brink Of a crater, where rain and flame Had mingled and crystallized. One venturous day Love came. Found us, and bound with a link Of gold the jewels he prized. The agonies old of the earth, Its plenitude and its dearth. The torrents of flame and of tears, All these in our souls were inborn. And we must endure through the years The glory and burden of birth That filled us with fire of the morn. Let the diamond lie in its mine ; Let ruby and topaz shine ; The beryl sleep, and the emerald keep Its sunned-leaf green ! We know The joy of sufferings deep That blend with a love divine. And the hidden warmth of the snow ! TENTH OPAL. Colors that tremble and perish, Atoms that follow the law, You mirror the truth which we cherish, You mirror the spirit we saw. Glow of the daybreak tender. Flushed with an opaline gleam, And passionate sunset-splendor — Ye both but embody a dream. Visions of cloud-hidden glory Breaking from sources of light Mimic the mist of life's story, Mingled of scarlet and white. Sunset-clouds iridescent, Opals, and mists of the day, Are thrilled alike with the crescent Delight of a deathless ray Shot through the hesitant trouble Of particles floating in space, And touching each wandering bubble With tints of a rainbowed grace. So through the veil of emotion Trembles the light of the truth ; And so may the light of devotion Glorify life — age and youth. Sufferings, — pangs that seem cruel, — These are but atoms adrift : The light streams through, and a jewel Is formed for us. Heaven's own gift ! George Parsons LatJirop. MISTAKEN PREMISES. r precisely lo o'clock of an evening in early spring two figures might have been seen traversing that historic inclosure known as Boston Common. They walked rather slowly, arm in arm, for the evening was a mild one — for Boston. An east wind had been blowing all day, and another would doubtless set in at sunrise, but just now there was only a soft soughing in the elm- boughs far above their heads. A few stars gleamed palely through the hazy sky, and in still paler reflection upon the cold bosom of the pond. A faint earthy smell filled the air, suggesting thoughts of early violets and cro- cuses and the thousand and one pleasant things that follow in their train. What it sug- gested to the minds of this couple, whether they were in any way aftected by it, it is impossible to tell. Certainly in their gait or bearing there was nothing of the sentimental lingering and dally- ing that spring induces. The most sagacious observer would never have suspected them of being engaged; yet such was the fact. They had borne that interesting relation to each other for more than two years. Nearly every one who knew them pro- nounced it a perfect match, and surely no two young people could have seemed to en- joy more complete community of thought, taste, and feeling than the clever young pro- fessor of chemistry, Orville Basford, and Electra, daughter of the late eminent scientist, Agamen- ticus Brown. That lamented man of learning, being denied the happiness of a son, and perceiving at an early date that in his only daughter he possessed uncommon intellectual material, had bestowed upon her the same careful mental training he would have brought to bear upon a boy. Also, with an amount of common sense not common in men of his profession, he had given her as far as possible the same physical training. The result was that Electra had grown to womanhood tall, shapely, and vigorous as to body, keen, thorough, and ambitious as to mind. Her face, while not exactly pretty, was mobile and frank. Her eyes and mouth were particularly good, complexion brilliant, and she had a great quantity of fair hair, brushed smoothly back from her broad, low forehead. This fashion of wearing the hair at the very height of the bang and frizz period, together with an almost nun-like simplicity of dress, gave Electra at once, wherever she appeared, a certain stamp that set her, somehow, apart from other girls of her age, even in intellectual Boston. Young men tlie world over are a lit- tle shy of young women with a reputation for much learning, and in Boston they are no exception. Not that they were not attracted, and strongly, too, by this Juno-shaped, rosy, frankly smiling young creature, but it was not pleasant to see her charming eyes take on a far-away look, or smile suddenly over their very shoulders at some bald and wrinkled old scientist who happened to appear just as they believed they had created a feeling of interest in her breast. Young Professor Basford was as unique in his way as was Miss Brown in hers. Of frail physique, he had never been able to join to any extent in the vigorous exercise of rowing, skating, fencing, and the like, which had formed no unimportant part of Electra's train- ing. From others, such as archery, his defec- tive eye-sight debarred him. As his doting mother expressed it, " Orville was all brain." And really, his tall figure was so attenuated, his bulging forehead so very conspicuous, that no doubt she was right. Professor Brown had found him a highly satisfactory pupil. He had shared Electra's private lessons with her father, finding in her a mind that more than kept pace with his own. They were at the same time a spur and a help to each other, and the old professor found intense pleasure in comparing the proc- esses and fostering the growth of these two remarkable young minds. Yet, although the young man's character was as stainless as his intelligence was fine. Professor Brown would as soon have dreamed of uniting that splendid creature, his daughter, to the skeleton of an ichthyosaurus or mega- therium as to poor Basford with his chronic invalidism and morbidness. But nature is stronger than reason, and the poor fellow had a heart in that hollow chest of his that was bound to grow warm under such protracted exposure to the radiant charms of a girl like Electra. At what particular season it lightly turned from logarithms to love, who can tell ? It came out — som.e months after the death of Professor Brown, fortunately — that they were engaged, and, as has been said, the announce- ment met with almost unanimous approval. MISTAKEN PREMISES. 49 But let us return now to this particularly well- matched couple, who by this time have nearly reached the steps leading into Beacon street, near which was situated the residence of the Browns. They were strangely silent. It might have been the profundities of the lecture to which they had been listening that occupied their minds, or was it love's eloquent silence that possessed them ? There was no trembling of the hand that clasped the young man's angular elbow, but now and then a sigh did agitate the breast of his light spring overcoat and mingle with the sighing of the elms, and once he shivered perceptibly. " Are you cold ? " asked Miss Brown. " Yes, a little," answered Professor Basford. " I think I was a little hasty in resorting to my spring coat." " I walked eight miles this afternoon," said the girl with a slight, very slight, suggestion of irony in her tone, " and found it warm work. I am never cold ! " The professor was silent, but presently was heard to sigh again. Miss Brown made a little gesture with her fine shoulders that savored strongly of irrita- tion. Not until they stood on the upper step of the tall flight reaching to the door of her home, with the sound of the bell echoing through the hall, was the silence again broken. " Won't you come in, Orville ? " asked the young girl in a manner strangely perfunctory, all things considered. The young man seemed to hesitate. His head was bent with a dejected air ; his whole frame, in fact, expressed dejection. As a lover he was a depressing spectacle. Miss Brown's foot tapped the step rapidly. She looked as if she might come out with some incisive little question or remark, but just then the door was opened, and without a word Professor Basford followed her into the back parlor. The servant, after turning up the gas, left them alone, standing on the hearth-rug oppo- site each other. Miss Brown, putting one neatly booted foot on the fender, leaned against the mantel and gazed with a kind yet quizzical look at her lover. Seen by gaslight his ap- pearance was even less exhilarating than be- fore, in the dim light of the street. Always pale, his thin face was now haggard, and showed the working of some agitating thought, and beneath his sparse, sandy mustache his lips were seen to quiver. As she looked at him the girl's inclination towards irony vanished. Accustomed as she was to her lover's supersensitiveness, and apt- ness for needless suffering, she saw that some- thing unusual was troubling him now ; so she put her hand on his shoulder, saying kindly : " What is it, Orville ? " The young man's face took on a look of relief. The question had helped him some- what. He threw his head back, flushing a lit- tle, as if preparing for a conflict. " I have something to say to you, Electra," he said, turning towards the little sofa they generally occupied together. " Sit here by me, dear." " Won't you lay aside your overcoat ? You might take more cold going out, you know." " It does n't matter," he answered absently. Electra, however, divested herself of her wraps before taking her place at his side. For a while he sat silent, steadily staring at his own long, narrow feet incased in arctics. The girl on her part looked as steadily at the slim, drab- clad figure by her side, the close-cropped head, sallow, pointed face, and spectacled, downcast eyes. Electra's taste, though severe, was in the right direction always. It occurred to her for the hundredth time that Orville should not wear drab clothes, and she made up her mind to tell him so at once. There was something in her cool scrutiny eminently disconcerting, and each time poor Basford looked up, the words he would have uttered died on his lips. " Well," said Electra, again noticing his agi- tation, " what is it ? " Now he faced her with a sickly smile. " You make it hard for me, Electra," he said, his voice shaking. " How so ? " she asked. Really there must be something unusual under all this agitation; something more than a morbid fancy. " Or- ville, you frighten me ! " she went on, fully in earnest now. " What is the matter ? " Basford seized both her hands, and leaned towards her with a determined look on his wan features. " Electra," he said, " tell me, first of all, that you are quite sure of the nature of my love for you; its purity, its strength." " I never doubted either," she answered with gentleness. "It has been no ordinary love," he went on in a hoarse voice. " It existed as long ago as I can remember my own existence, and has grown steadily. You always were, you always will be, to me, the queen of womankind, my perfect womanly ideal." Electra colored at these high words, and looked at her lover with some apprehensive- ness. There was a wildness in his glance, a trembling in his voice and his entire form, that made her almost afraid that his mind was unsettled. But after an instant she forced her- self to assume a playful air, and to say laugh- ingly : " If you talk to me in that way, Orville, are you not afraid of developing in me just that 50 MISTAKEN PREMISES. quality you always so deprecated in women ? I assure you I feel myself growing vain already." " I have no fear of that, Electra," answered Basford solemnly, keeping his large glittering eyes fixed upon her. " My fears are of another nature." " Indeed ! " returned Electra, losing her brightness in spite of herself " Electra," went on Basford, " since our en- gagement took place I have bestowed a great deal of earnest thought upon the subject of — of marriage." " Really ! " murmured Electra, trying again to rally. " Really ! How very strange ! " " Not upon our marriage alone," rapidly continued Basford, " but upon marriage in the abstract, and upon its diverse action upon the man and the woman. To sum up the result of my observations, I have found that what has always been asserted by champions of your sex is true beyond cavil. Marriage to a man is but an incident of his life, neither making nor mar- ring his career, even by the added sense of responsibility it lays upon him, giving incentive and impetus to his efforts. On the other hand, in woman, marriage by its immense require- ments in other directions arrests intellectual development. Cabined, cribbed, confined in the walls of her home, the most gifted, highly organized, and ambitious woman is dwarfed and, as it were, obliterated, l^he only alterna- tive is neglect of all the sacred claims of ma- ternity, of childhood, of home-keeper. The lot of the average married woman is, I may say — " Here, to his utter amazement and chagrin, Electra, whose face had undergone a score of changes meantime, interrupted him with a burst of frank, wholesome laughter. " If I did not see the speaker before me," she said, " I should fancy I was listening to one of Miss Scranton's harangues. Orville, what has come over you to-night ? " Professor Basford did not smile, but shook his head with an air of solemn reproach. " Miss Scranton is a noble woman," he said; " misunderstood and undervalued by the very objects of her love and heroism. She has told me herself that she finds more sympathy and encouragement among men than among her own sex. Strange paradox ! Of course you, Electra, although so immeasurably above most women of your age in mental capacity and ac- quirement, cannot comprehend the marriage question in all its bearings. It is even — a — undesirable that you should do so. How can one so young, so guarded as you have been from evil, so imbued with lofty thought and sentiment, be made to realize that marriage, while a sacrament, is also a sacrifice, at which man is high-priest and woman the victim ? " Electra had withdrawn her hands from her lover's, and was regarding him now with di- lated eyes and heightened color. When he ceased speaking, her eyes fell; and after some hesitation she answered, very softly and ear- nestly : " It has always seemed to me that in mar- riage between two human beings who are thor- oughly in sympathy with each other, as we have always been, Orville, there could be no question of sacrifice. And even were it as you say," she added still more softly, " is not sacri- fice the very essence and spirit of love ? " " You speak like the true, sweet woman that you are," said Basford in deep emotion. " You prove, if proof were needed, that my esti- mate of you is the correct one. And for that reason, Electra, because you are all that is grand and lovely in woman, I will not see you wrecked upon the unstable sea of marriage. No, Electra," he cried, starting to his feet and pacing the floor in great excitement; " because I love you far beyond myself, because I per- ceive your splendid possibilities, because I see in you one who, free to act, may rise to the highest eminence, and become a beacon to her sex and to the world, I refuse to immolate you. You shall see, the world shall see, that I, too, can sacrifice. Electra," he continued, stopping before her — " Electra, I renounce all claim upon your hand. You are free." The young man was fairly transfigured by emotion. His shoulders no longer stooped, his head was erect, and his really fine features il- lumined by that most exalted of human passions — the passion of self-immolation. Electra, white and rigid, sat looking up at him with a bewildered stare. No doubt of her lover's sincerity entered her mind. Basford's conscience was abnormally developed. She had often told him that he was of the stuff that produced martyrs and fanatics. She was too just not to admire his magnanimity, yet far too feminine not to feel the sharpness of being re- nounced, be the motive ever so high and holy. So, when she at last spoke, after a pause during which poor Basford's sacred fire begun to sink and smolder, her voice had a cold, measured tone that struck into him like a knife. " Do I understand," she said, "that you wish me to regard our engagement as — broken ? " At this question, so proudly dehvered, and accompanied by so cold a glance, the poor fellow's heroic fire again flickered and went suddenly out. He sank limply into the nearest chair, " You put it in a way," he said tremblingly, " that shows how utterly I have failed to make my motives clear.* Electra, I will make another attempt — " She put up her hand as if to ward off a blow. MISTAKEN PREMISES. 51 " No," she said. " I comprehend you thor- oughly, and — and appreciate your motives. Of course " — faltering a little — " of course all this is a surprise to me, and rather overwhelm- ing at first. Not having accustomed myself to look at things in just this light, you cannot expect me to rise to your level at once, you know." She was not looking at him at all, but at a bust of Sappho which stood at the other side of the room. The young man himself seemed for some moments too utterly crushed by her words to find any with which to reply. As she was not looking at him he could look at her, long and fixedly, as though taking a sort of inventory of the priceless treasure he was renouncing. That fine head, with its crown of glorious tresses; those deep, bright eyes, soft cheeks, and fresh lips; that symmetrical bust, and those long, classically graceful limbs ; more than all these, the rare mind and warm heart that ani- mated them — all, all could be his to hold and keep through life; yet he must renounce, he already had renounced, them forever. Not a shadow of a thought of withdrawing what he had said existed in his mind. The struggle had been going on for months; its fiercest anguish was over. What remained was the sight of Electra's sufferings, and the certain knowledge that, for the present, he must bear her anger and perhaps contempt. At last he roused himself with a great sigh and rose to his feet, and stood looking down upon her most sadly, with gentle reproach and pleading. " I will leave you now, Electra," he said, " trusting to your noble heart to acquit me of this seeming cruelty, that is really the purest kindness. I would die by torture, if need be, to spare you a moment's pang. What I am now doing for you will one day appear to you in its true light. Of myself I say nothing. I shall go out into the world and find my work. You, too, Electra, will find yours — some work more worthy of you than any the most favor- able marriage could offer. At no distant time you will be ready to thank me on the bended knees of your soul for setting you free. Good- night, Electra." He took one of her apathetic hands in his cold fingers and touched it with his very icy lips. " Good-night," murmured the girl frigidly. A 'moment later the house-door closed, and the long, drab figure was wending its way through the now falling drizzle to his lonely bachelor lodgings. Electra looked a little pale and abstracted at breakfast the next morning; but Mrs. Brown, a good little woman of purely domestic habits, respected her superior daughter as she had respected her superior husband, and asked no questions. At the usual hour Electra went to her classes, — she was a teacher of physics in one of the high schools, — and directly after tea retired to the little hall room used by her as study, laboratory, and boudoir in one. But after an hour or so she descended to the back parlor, where Mrs. Brown sat knitting in the society of Befisarius, a Maltese cat of enormous size and warlike character. For some moments the tall, erect young woman stood by the fire looking down half- absently, half-lovingly, upon the little mother in the easy-chair. The little mother looked up, and their glances met in that composed, confidential, assured way that marks the very closest tie. Mrs. Brown said not a word. She saw that her daughter looked grave, and that she had laid a letter upon the mantel. She knew that something was coming, and bided Electra's time without exhibiting impatience. " Mother," said the girl quietly, after a while, " would it trouble you very much to know that my engagement to Orville Basford is broken ofi"?" The knitting fell from Mrs. Brown's fingers upon her black cashmere lap, " Electra ! " was all she said aloud, but her heart gave a sudden cry of " Thank God ! " that was a surprise even to herself "Yes, mother dear," said Electra; "it is broken off." " Why — by whom — for what reason ? " Stammered Mrs. Brown. " By Orville himself," calmly answered the girl, with a smile. " Why, I thought he worshiped you ! " cried her mother, utterly amazed. " You thought right, mother. ' Worship ' is exactly the word. He has placed me upon a pedestal, and prostrated himself before me. In short, he worships me to the extent of consid- ering me far too good ' for human nature's daily food.' " Electra's voice sounded a little hard as she said these words, and her smile was more bit- ter than sweet. Suddenly her manner changed, however, and dropping upon the hassock at her mother's feet she laid her head against her knees, saying, as she had said so many times when a little child about to impart some childish experience : " I '11 tell you all about it, mother. I had noticed for a long time that Orville was very much disturbed about something, but I thought" — with a little smile, — "it was his nerves, or his digestion, or his eyes ; you know he is always conjuring up some bugbear, poor fellow. Last night, however, it all came 52 MISTAKEN PREMISES. out. It was n't his nerves or his digestion; it was his conscience. The sum and substance of the matter is, that he has come to the con- chision that I am far too exalted a being to partake of the common lot of woman — 'to spin, bear children, and weep.' I am to climb the highest pinnacle of fame, and sit there in solitary state, instead of having a home like other women, and a husband to take care of me, and httle children to love me. In short, my dear mother, Orville refuses to marry me. That is all." " The fanatic ! " cried Mrs. Brown, divided between indignation and wonder. " To give up a girl like you for a theory ! The man is mad." " The world always says that of exception- ally noble people, you know," said Electra. Mrs. Brown's feelings took another turn. " My poor darling ! " she murmured, lifting the girl's face into view. Then, swiftly chang- ing her tone, she added : " Electra, my daughter, do I read you correctly ? You have had a great shock; you are pained, but — your heart is not broken. Am I right ? " " Entirely so, mother," the girl answered. The mother folded the pale, tearful, yet smiling face to her bosom. " Thank God ! " she whispered, over and over again. " Thank God ! " She did not say how much of this thankful- ness arose from her release from the anxiety that this engagement had ever caused her. With all Basford's fine qualities, he was not the husband that she desired for her glorious daughter. This very act of his proved that she was right. She could not even be angry with him, so intense was her relief. She even began to pity him. " Poor Orville ! " she said aloud. " How has he ever arrived at such a point ? " Then, with a deep sigh, she mechanically resumed her knitting. " Electra, you are a strange girl. Do you know, I thought you cared more for Orville ; though I could not understand how you could — in that way." A rich color dyed the girl's cheek and neck as she answered : " I don't think I understood myself in the matter. I have known him so long, and we were so congenial in our tastes, that it came about in a natural sort of way. It was very pleasant to think that we should always study and work together. I have never thought to question my feelings for him. But last night, after he left me, I could not sleep, and I — I think I found myself out at last. I was shocked and angry with myself at first, when I found how little the thought of — oi7iot marrying him disturbed me. In fact " — with a deep blush — " I think it was an actual relief to me that it was not to be. I suffered only because I was not more unhappy, and because he seemed to suf- fer so, poor fellow. It is right that he should know how I feel, and I have written him all about it. It may help him to be less miser- able." Mrs. Brown smiled dubiously over Electra's head. It struck her that the discovery of the state of Electra's emotions would scarcely prove consolatory, even to a lover of Basford's extraordinary type. " And so," added the girl, throwing her arms about her mother, " and so it is over, and I hope you are not sorry that I again be- long fo you entirely." A week, perhaps, had passed. Again it was evening, and again Mrs. Brown sat knitting before the cozy grate fire, while Belisarius purred • slumbrously at her feet. Mrs. Brown was thinking ; so deeply that she did not hear the ringing of the door-bell, and was quite startled by the subsequent entrance of a young man. This young man was of medium stature only ; yet so well built, and carrying himself so erect, as to appear rather tall than otherwise. There was also something free and graceful in his movements that suggested the athlete. His face, though neither handsome nor intel- lectual, expressed in a high degree strength, virility, and that quality of chivalrous tender- ness, shown most in his soft, dark eyes and smiling mouth, that makes a man irresistible in a woman's eves. Above all, he looked clean- souled and independent, and, it may be added, was scrupulously well dressed. In short, Rich- ard Fanshawe, attorney by profession, was a man whose entrance into any circle sent the mercury to just that happy figure when good spirits were a matter of course. That he was quite at home in Mrs. Brown's little back parlor was evident, for that lady smiled brightly at him without rising, and pointed at an easy- chair in her close vicinity. " Now, that is very kind of you, Dick," she said, " to drop in on an old lady like me. I was getting quite dull. Electra is out, you know." " She is ? Then -for once in my life I am glad of it. Aunt Fanny. I 've got something on my mind; and I 'm awfully afraid of Electra." " Well," said Mrs. Brown, resting a kind look on his rather embarrassed face, " relieve your mind of its burden, Dick. I am quite alone, except for Belisarius ; and you can put him out if his presence annoys you." But this assurance did not bring about an immediate outpouring of the subject weighing upon Mr. Dick Fanshawe's mind. He seemed to be laboring under a sudden attack of timidity. MISTAKEN PREMISES. 53 "How — a — how is Electra?" he stam- mered presently. " Was that what was on your mind ? Thank you, Electra is very well. Never better since I can remember." Mr. Fanshawe bit his lip, looked around, crossed and uncrossed his legs several times, and finally came out abruptly : " You won't take me for a common gossip. Aunt Fanny, if I tell you that society is med- dling a good deal nowadays with the affairs of Electra and Basford. I have barely escaped committing assault and battery several times on her account; and I come to you, as my dear, good friend and Electra's mother, to get your authority for denying these rumors, which people persist in believing." " What are the rumors ?" asked Mrs. Brown, picking up a dropped stitch. " They say that Electra has thrown Basford over, and that he is all broken up, and about to start for Asia. Of course I don't beheve Electra would do anything like that — " " You have my authority," said a voice from the doorway, " for saying, to any one who takes so deep an interest in my affairs, that the engagement between myself and Pro- fessor Basford was broken off at his request, for reasons that concern no one but ourselves." Whereupon Miss Brown, who had entered with a latch-key just in time to catch the gist of Fanshawe's last remark, swept up the stairs to her room with an air of insulted majesty, and appeared no more during his stay. Fanshawe had risen in some natural confu- sion as she appeared so suddenly on the scene. As she vanished he turned towards her mother, the picture of amazement. " Yes," nodded Mrs. Brown, composedly. " Yes ; it is true, Dick. Orville Basford broke the engagement himself; peremptorily, I may say. He did not even leave the matter con- ditional upon Electra's consent. He simply renounced her." It took some time for this incredible state- ment to penetrate Fanshawe's understanding. During the process he lost considerable of his amiability of expression. " Mrs. Brown," he finally exclaimed ; " do you mean that that — that flabby mollusk vol- untarily gave up a girl like your daughter ? " Mrs. Brown laughed. " It is not nice of you, Dick, to call poor Orville names behind his back." " I 'd do worse to his. face ! " muttered Fan- shawe, wrathfully. "You are mistaking the premises, Dick," said Mrs. Brown, who immensely enjoyed the young man's excitement. " Poor Orville deserves your respect and admiration, instead of all this wrath and vengefulness. He has Vol. XXXVII.— 8. acted from the purest and highest motives in releasing Electra." " You don't mean to say," interrupted Fan- shawe, " that he has at last come to a realizing sense of the pitiful figure he would cut as the husband of such a woman ? " " He goes farther than that, Dick. He thinks Electra should not marry at all — that she should live for humanity at large, and her own sex in particular. And," she added with maternal enthusiasm, " I don't know but he is right. Electra is a grand woman. I am her mother, and yet I see that I scarcely know her. See how she is bearing this." Yes, truly, there was nothing of the love- lorn maiden in that imposing figure, proud face, and ringing voice. No ; decidedly, Elec- tra was not heart-broken. Perhaps she had never loved Basford, after all. How this thought sent the blood rioting through Fan- shawe's veins ! Electra had been the goddess of his idolatry for many a year. If Basford had been the companion of her studies, he, Dick, had been her chosen friend and com- rade during many a happy hour on river or harbor, and on long equestrian or pedestrian excursions into the surrounding country ; also her considerate antagonist in the exercise with foils that formed a part of her physical train- ing. " Heavens ! " he often said to himself with a delightful thrill, " how handsome that girl is, fencing ! " Remote as was the relationship existing be- tween them, something rather farther removed than third cousin, it was just enough to furnish a pretext for a sort of affectionate familiarity as fascinating as it was dangerous. He had never attempted to analyze his feelings for Electra. She was his cousin, and by all odds the finest girl he knew. That she was his own superior in many respects, that there were many subjects they had not in common, that she often seemed to look down upon him, — not contemptuously, but graciously and even unconsciously, as one oh a higher eminence might regard a dweller on the plain below, — did not in the least imbitter his feelings for her. There was no vanity or masculine arro- gance in Fanshawe's nature. He gloried in Electra's extraordinary gifts, although a girl who preferred a lecture on metaphysics to the opera, and found an unknown solution or a mathematical puzzle more absorbing than the latest popular novel, was, and must always remain, an inscrutable mystery to him. Her engagement to Basford had come upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. It was something incomprehensible and monstrous. He had all a strong man's unreasoning con- tempt for sickliness and weakness in one of his own sex. It is doubtful if Basford's high 54 MISTAKEN PREMISES. moral and intellectual worth weighed much in Fanshawe's opinion, opposed to a body made up on such a plan as was the unfortunate professor's. He beHeved that Electra was under some delusion; that it was impossible for such a woman to love such a combination of shat- tered nerves and imperfect physical faculties as was Basford. Of course he had never breathed a word of this to any living creature ; but now, under the excitement of learning what had taken place, moved by a sense of rejoicing that surprised himself, and emboldened by something that he fancied he detected in the face and voice of Mrs. Brown, — something that was not regret, — he broke out with the words : " She never loved Basford ! I knew it ! I knew it ! " Mrs. Brown looked at him, and an indefin- able satisfaction stole over her and lit up her kindly face. She rose and softly closed the door into the hall ; then returned to her seat, and looked at Fanshawe more affectionately than ever. Presently she began talking. It would be a breach of confidence, also a literary y^zf/jT pas^ to repeat the rest of this con- versation. It is enough to say that it was quite late when Dick Fanshawe started on his home- ward way in an inexplicably joyous mood. His walk might be divided into three stages. At the end of the first he might have been heard to exclaim with much emphasis, " Basford is a fool!" At the end of the second he stopped short, looked upward, and confided to the stars this secret : " I love her ! " The third stage terminated at his own door, when again the celestial bodies were required to bear witness to the following vow : " With God's help, I will make her my wife ! " The reader is now required to make a leap of three years and a little over. When this story began, it was spring. Now it is summer, and a rare morning in June. Again the scene is the Common. It is Sunday. The ancient elms are in full leafage, and the home of myr- iad nesting birds. The pond reflects an azure sky, and a score or two of happy child-faces that are leaning over it watching the fish, while parents and nurses sit gossiping cheerfully under the trees. It is early. The church-bells have not yet rung; the grass is wet with dew, and the gravel walks are still somewhat damp — so much so that a young woman in a white gown, who is sitting a little apart, finds it desirable to draw her dainty furbelows well up from the ground, and rest her dainty slippers on their high heels only. She has a book of poems in her hand into which she dips now and then between long, delightsome inhalations over the great red roses on her bosom and watch- ing the kaleidoscopic effect of the passing throng on the distant streets, or playing eavesdropper to the sparrows that are war-making and love- making all about her. Fresh as the morning is the young woman's toilet, and as radiant as the morning her face. No passer who does not give it a second glance. Three sparrows make a fierce attack upon one in her immediate vicinity. " Fair play ! " remarks the young woman firmly, and, stoop- ing, launches a small pebble that sends the disputants off in great flurry. She shows her beautiful white teeth in a smile, and reads another sonnet. All this time there has been bearing down towards her, from the direction of Tremont street,' an extraordinary figure. It is tall ; it is meager ; and its meagerness is accentuated by a long, belted ulster of a most depressing greenish-drab color. This garment leaves in view only a pair of long, narrow feet incased in drab gaiters, long, narrow hands in gloves of the same shade, and a head covered by one of those preposterous Oriental inventions — a huge yellowish-drab helmet lined with sickly green. This unhappily chosen head-gear shades features with which the reader is familiar. An Asiatic diet has added no fullness to those hol- low cheeks; an Asiatic sun has greatly in- creased their sallowness, and that weakness of vision which has always required the aid of col- ored glasses of large size and great convexity. It is, as the reader has already discovered, no other than Professor Orville Basford, but yesterday landed from a European steamer, but this morning arrived in Boston, and now walking across the familiar Common, his heart the prey of conflicting emotions. There is no need to ask what it was that lent impetus to his step. As he caught sight of the young woman in the white gown he started, hesitated, moved on, and again stopped. It was Electra, and yet not Electra. The pose of the stately figure, the turn of head and neck, the clear, rosy-white complexion, were indeed hers; but that gown — frilled, puffed, and set off by pale azure ribbons, these high- heeled, rosetted slippers, that — ye Olympian deities, ye shades of Aristotle, of Epictetus, and Heaven knows how many more lights of phi- losophy and science, ancient' and modern ! — that fringe of soft little curls about the throne of that admirable intellect — no, it could 7/^/ be Electra ! The sparrows are at it again. The young woman looks up," frowns, smiles, and turns to look for another pebble. It is Electra, her beauty enhanced by a look of ineffable content, surely never inspired by MISTAKEN PREMISES. 55 the differential calculus or the successful analy- sis of any unknown solution, unless it be one proposed by the great chemist — Love. With an exclamation Basford started for- ward. " Electra ! " he passionately cried, seizing both her hands. " Electra ! My own, beauti- ful, glorious girl ! " Surely the sun of Asia must have burned its way into his veins. His thin blood was molten fire, his sharp features were aflame. A great blush seemed to suftlise the young woman's whole person as she tried to wring her hands from his grasp. Her very arms glowed through their transparent covering, and she could hardly bring out the one word : "Orville!" " Yes ! " cried Basford, in an ecstasy of ex- citement. " Yes, Orville ! Come back to you to implore your mercy and forgiveness. Elec- tra! " he went on in rapid, impassioned out- pouring, " I have outlived my unreal visions. I am a man — not a dreamer, now. I made a fearful mistake. I cannot give you up. Without you I am a nonentity. Life is di- vested of all purpose, all incentive, all zest. Let us work together. Electra ! Our dual- ity—" But by this time Electra had succeeded in freeing her hands and recovering her powers of speech, though the blush had receded, leav- ing her quite pale. " Professor Basford," she said with dignity, " you must not say these things to me — " " Oh, why ? Why ? " broke in Basford, wildly. The sight of this woman, after all those years of martyrdom, was working like madness in his veins. " Because," said Electra, her color rapidly mounting, " because — I am married." The professor started back with a smothered cry, and stared, open-mouthed and incredu- lous, into her face. "I — I thought you must have heard of my marriage," continued Electra, more gently, seeing his too-evident consternation. " My mother sent you a paper containing the an- nouncement to Bangkok, where we thought you were then — more than two years ago, it was." "I — I never received it," faltered Basford. " And I had no correspondents who — would have been likely — " He stopped. His wandering eyes had be- come fixed upon the jaunty figure of Richard Fanshawe, who was coming up the walk wheel- ing— yes, actually w^ieeling a perambulator, containing a magnificent baby about a year old, while the white-capped nurse sauntered along in the rear. Had Basford possessed the power, the earth would have been commanded to swallow him up at once out of sight. As it was, he stood rooted to it, as the little proces- sion approached, scarcely crediting his senses. Electra married, and to Richard Fanshawe — a man whose soul was in his clothes, his din- ner, his cigar ! For of course he did Fanshawe as little justice as Fanshawe had ever done him. " Richard," said his wife, going to meet him, and accompanying her words with various cabalistic signs, invisible of course to Basford, her back being turned — " Richard, only think! Here is Professor Basford, just returned from Asia." " Why, Basford ! " cried Fanshawe, after one glare of amazement, seizing the drab-gloved hands — " why, you don't say you 're back ! Why, how are you, Basford ? " He could afford to be generous to his former rival — happy fellow ! " I am really delighted to see you," he went on ; " and so is Electra, I am sure. And so will Mrs. Brown be. She has often spoken of you. You must come home to dinner with us. Professor. We won't take ' No ' for an an- swer. You must tell us all about your travels, you know. Here, Professor, let me introduce you to my son and heir, ' Richard Agamen- ticus.' Now, what have you to say to that ? " Poor Basford ! He stared blankly at the child a moment, murmuring some abortive congratulations. The invitation to dinner he declined. He must go at once to his great-aunt in Dorches- ter. Apparently he was wildly impatient to reach her arms, for with the briefest possible adieux, he rapidly turned his steps in the direc- tion of Tremont street, not once looking back- ward. Who can describe his thoughts, if "thoughts" those formless, void sensations that filled his brain could be called ? Had not Electra said, in the note she had sent him on the day fol- lowing his act of renunciation, that she should " never marry " ? True, girls often are heard to utter that formula, but then Electra was different. Her words were never lightly ut- tered. Yet she was married, and a mother, and lost to him forever. And by his own act. Now here occurred one of those singular coincidences that baffle reason. Professor Bas- ford had reached the exact spot where Richard Fanshawe had made the same remark more than three years previously, and here, with a sudden glow of self-illumination, he uttered the words : " I am a fool ! " Mr. and Mrs. Fanshawe watched the long drab figure up to the vanishing point. Then they turned, looked at each other, and smiled. " Dick," said his wife, with flushed cheeks 56 ''POVERI! POVEJR.IS.''' and eyes brimming with mirth, " do you know, he never got the news of our marriage, and he came back to — to take me ! " " He did, did he ? " said Mr. Fanshawe, scowhng at the place where the drab ulster had disappeared. Electra broke into a laugh, but turned sud- denly grave. " Indeed, Richard, he was frightfully in ear- nest," she said. " His vehemence fairly took my breath away." " Effect of tropical climate," said Fanshawe. " Ah, poor devil ! I am sorry for him. How he looks ! His liver must be in a fearful state." " Dick," said Electra, pensively, as they walked towards their pretty home, " you never did Orville Basford justice. He has a fine in- tellect and an unusually sensitive organization. Of course he is inclined to idealize things. He idealizes woman. He " — very softly — " he idealized me ! " "While I," said Dick fervently — "I only idolize you, my darling ! " Mrs. Fanshawe mentioned Basford only once more on their way home. That was after a long pause, during which her husband had been eying her intense countenance with some anxiety. He was human; and notwith- standing the look with which his wife had an- swered his lover-like speech, and which was still thrilling along his nerves, a little demon of doubt was trying to make itself felt. Not that he for a moment believed that Electra was regretting Basford ; but sometimes the old feeling would come over him that in some of her moods Electra passed into spheres of thought where he, plain matter-of-fact Dick Fanshawe, the partner of her common joys and sorrows, could not follow, and where, if he could, he would feel terribly uncomfortable and out of place. This, in their present rela- tion, gave him a queer sensation of being left outside, and was always accompanied by a little pang, as of losing his wife for the time being. Therefore when that Minerva-Hke coun- tenance was finally turned towards him, he humbled himself in spirit before the great words which he intuitively felt were coming. " Dick ! " said Mrs. Fanshawe, solemnly, " some woman ought to marry Orville Bas- ford, if only to keep him from wearing that hideous thing on his head." And to her dying day she will never under- stand why her husband broke into such sud- den and disproportionate laughter, nor why he abused his opportunities by rapturously press- mg her hand under cover of the broad apron- strings of the nurse, who walked before them trundling the chariot of the sleeping Richard Agamenticus. Julia Schayer. '^ ^ -ithf "*T "POVERI! POVERIS!" " Feed my sheep." COME, let US ponder ; it is fit — Born of the poor, born to the poor. The poor of purse, the poor of wit, . Were first to find God's opened door — Were first to climb the ladder round by round That fell from heaven's door unto the ground. God's poor came first, the very first ! God's poor were first to see, to hear, To feel the light of heaven burst Full on their faces. Far or near. His poor were first to follow, first to fall ! What if at last his poor stand first of all ? Joaquin Miller. COLE AND HIS WORK. THE POPULARIZATION OF ART. HE popularization of art in our day has the radical, indeed vi- tal, difference from that of any previous time, that it rests on the doctrine that truth to nature in some shape is the standard of excellence, and that what every- body can see is what anybody must represent. The history of art is full of records of popu- lar enthusiasm over some work which met the ideal of the day — a result always possible when that ideal was one of art, but which is no longer possible since nature has been recognized as the standard ; because if any one be capable of enthusiasm over nature, it is not on the copy that that enthusiasm will descend, but on the ever present and more vivid orig- inal. Nature does not, pace Leonardo, ask any one to hold up a mirror to her, for her glory and perfection are beyond all forms of reflec- tion. The human mind — so far, at least, as it has been subjected to the process of civili- zation— has become awakened to the reality and importance of nature and the emotions which are derived from her, and in the same degree has become insensible to art and its enthusiasms. This seems to be a necessary stage in human development. The race cools to the whole range of poetic emotions as it grows older in progress. To maintain the sen- sibility to these requires a special and conserva- tive culture — a conservation in the individual of the uncalculating ways and improvident mind which characterize the true artistic tem- perament; but to the race in general, in pro- portion as it develops to the modern ideal of progress, even in the better sense, the entire range of artistic, /. ^., emotional, faculties are yielding place to the rational and scientific; and the redevelopment of art in the sense in which it was known in its golden ages is no longer to be hoped for. (I will not say im- possible, because " they know not well the subtle ways " the universal mother returns to her beloved seats, or where the inexhaustible fountain may burst out again.) But as art, and not nature, is the seed of a new art, we can- not, in a hypothetical view of such revival, err in attaching great importance to the manner of thought and work of the great artistic epochs of the past, or study too profoundly the traits of the great painters whom we dis- tinguish as the " old masters." Whatever con- tributes to the better knowledge and keener dis- crimination of the more subtile traits of the work of the nascent phases of art as distinguished from the mature — the early and struggling Renaissance as compared with the triumph- ant and complete — -is, therefore, a pro founder lesson in the philosophy of art, and more im- portant in view of a possible new avatar of the creative spirit in our own day, than any study of perfected results, and necessary as preparation even for the full appreciation of the latter. The intermediation of the former is of vital impor- tance. The art of Giotto is, in this sense, more important to the student than that of Titian; and if, in our modern systems of study, in which the old masters are a means, we have failed to produce anything but palpable imi- tations, it is because, in adhering to the study of men who had reached the top of the scale, we have lost sight entirely of the steps by wdiich they got there. To us in America, removed from the facili- ties of the great galleries and still further re- moved in spirit from the temper out of which all great former art has sprung, the early masters of art can never be popular as Meis- sonier and Bouguereau are popular ; but what good we can get from them we must get through reproductions, and these reproductions must be made in the spirit of the originals, in the same reverence and unfaltering conscien- tiousness. It is of no profit here to discuss the conditions of American art : whether we have or have not a proper school, whether we have de- veloped an original motive, is a matter of purely academical platitudes. Our national temper is anti-artistic, and when, if ever, the school comes, there will be the less hesitation in recognizing it as we do not incline that way. The subject must be left for development at length to a study on art-philosophy; but it is necessary to make brief note of this, our unartistic temper- ament, to be able to develop fully the consid- erations which concern the forms of art which have taken root with us. Chief of these, accord- ing to the admission of all the art world, is our wood-engraving. The modern spirit of fidelity to the visible and material ideal is here entirely appropriate ; and when the old subjective creations of art come to be regarded as objec- tive material, the unquestioning and uncom- promising exactitude of the modern spirit has found the noblest field it can ever be employed in. The skill which on a wood- block can facsimile an etching is more worthily 58 COLE AND HIS WORK. employed in reproducing and perpetuating the greatest works of the pencil which time has left us. In absolute exactitude of repro- duction of the qualities, primary or secondary, of the original set before it, nothing in repro- duction equals this wood-engraving. If, therefore, it be possible to render early Italian art popular in America, and so to employ it in the furtherance of general art education, nothing could be more useful than a series of reproductions, by the best wood-engravers of America, of the work of the early Italian painters, especially those in whom design and pathos dominated. The leading motive of Venetian art cannot be reproduced in black and white; that of Florentine, Sienese, and Umbrian can. Nothing more important could be un- dertaken, then, by our engravers than the work of these latter schools. Beside these relative considerations it must be admitted that, with the modern loss of the great productive impulse, we have, so far as serious students of art are concerned, acquired a wider and more catholic comprehension of the kind of work to the doing of which our day is not moved. We are growing wiser as critics in proportion as we grow less impas- sioned as poets ; and in that limited circle of minds which is slowly acquiring mastery of public opinion, the elder Italian painters in general are more carefully studied and better understood than they ever were before. And as the study of pure art makes its way and molds the art university which may come one day, Giotto and Botticelli, even more than Titian and Raphael, will come forward as the true masters of any possible new art. The undertaking to which The Century is devoting its resources, in the series of works on which Mr. Cole has been for several years engaged, is, therefore, in the widest sense of the term, a great educational work, and one than which the head of our school of wood-engravers could find no more profitable object for the devotion of the best years of his life. For such work, on a scale which permits populariza- tion, there is no method comparable to the work of this new school of engravers. In Mr. Cole are combined the firm and unerring hand and subtilely trained eye which give consummate skill, with the profound sympathy and appre- ciation necessary to the treatment of those masters whose work is the most recondite of all we know in art. A more appreciative lover of the early Italian art than he I have never known. I have followed him at his work, studied with him the pictures to be repro- duced, watched his cunning hand develop the forms which were before us, and given the most careful and prolonged scrutiny to the work when finished; and I do not hesitate to record my judgment that wherever the highest degree of subtilty and the finest shade of feeling were required, whether in the intensity of Giotto's Salutation or the evanescent expression in the Giocondo of Da Vinci, there is no work in my knowledge so faithful and so reverential as his. To me it would be a loss to art if ever again he were compelled to give himself up to work less worthy than the reproduction of the best art that the world has known. Work so manly, so true, so devout in its spirit, should have no less object than the preservation of the things most worthy of perpetuity. MR. cole's method. The method which Cole follows in these reproductions will interest their admirers. A photograph is first taken of the picture, on which Mr. Cole makes all the corrections needed for the translation of the values of col- ors into white and black. This is then copied on the wood-block in the following manner : the surface of the block is prepared of an intense black, and on this is laid a sensitive collodion film, such as was used for the once popular ambrotypes or later tintypes, on which the photograph is copied in the camera so that a positive image is produced, reversed in position, but correct in light and dark, the lights being formed by a deposit of metalHc silver and the darks by the black ground. The block is then treated as in the case of a drawing on wood, the lights formed by the silver deposit being cut away, showing in turn ;i the pale tint of the wood under the blackened surface, while the shadows are formed by the undisturbed surface. As the cutting progresses the collodion film is removed by india-rubber, leaving the black shadows and gradations of tints in clear black lines as they wdll be printed. The incised lines being then filled in with finely powdered chalk, the block becomes its own proof and the effect as when printed can be exactly judged. The actual engraving of this block after re- ceiving the photographic image, except as to unimportant parts which may equally well be executed from a photograph, is done directly from the originals. All the great line engravings which have been made from the old masters have been done from black and white drawings — or at best, in later times, from photographs, no reproduction by engraving directly from the original pictures having ever, before these of Mr. Cole, been attempted. Etching directly from the originals has lately been done, and for land- scape work is all that can be desired ; but in my judgment wood-cutting affords, for delicately modeled forms and subtile rendering of human expression, greater refinement than is possible in etching, combining the clean line of copper THE BYZANTINES. 59 or steel plate engraving with as great range of texture-rendering as etching allows, and the rapidity and equality of impression which wood-engraving alone permits, and which are necessary to wide dissemination. This en- semble of considerations will make evident the great importance of the work in which Mr. Cole is now engaged, probably the most im- portant in respect to sound art education of any undertaken thus far — with, perhaps, the exception of the publications of the Arundel Society, which, however, fail in the requisite of being available for unlimited circulation, owing to their relatively great cost, and which are, to my mind, inferior in subtile fidelity to the work of Mr. Cole. W. J. Stillma?!. THE BYZANTINES. HE generally accepted idea that the great revival of art took place in the schools of Italy about the time of and under Cimabue is as baseless as some of the scien- tific theories which date from the same epoch. There has never been any break in the continuity of art development since the early schools of Greece began to differentiate the archaic from the monumental and symbolic forms of sculpture. Art has had its changes and its high and low tides, just as all forms of civilization have had and still have. When the barbarians swept Italy, Byzantium held the traditions, and the statues of Lysippus stood in the public places until they were thrown down by the Venetians to be broken up and made into coin to pay their soldiers. The simplicity and purity of Greek design, which in Italy had given way to the natural- ism of portraiture and in Constantinople to a barbarous rudeness of the sculptural element, had had its day and could never have a dis- tinct revival, because it was an art which grew out of a motive which had ceased to exist. The perception of the ideal, /. e., the purely beautiful, as developed in various types, each perhaps referable to some attribute of nature, was only possible, in the perfection in which the Greeks possessed it, in minds whose serene enjoyment of the external world was undis- turbed by moral struggles and painful ques- tionings as to the relations of this life with another, such as Christianity introduced, — as it had been impossible with the luxury and sen- sual degradation which preceded and perhaps led to the conquest of Greece by Alexander and the Romans. That state of humanity in which Greek art was possible may be spoken of as the healthy, ripe childhood of the race, when all the faculties have come into happy activity and the presentiments of decay and death have not crossed with their shadows the sunshine of life. But before Christianity came philosophy had begun to make men think gravely of an eternal life, and broken up the careless existence of those children of Apollo and Minerva. Then came Christianity with its terrible menaces and magnificent promises. and its morbid asceticism, making pleasure sin, and all physical beauty a snare. Naturally, under these circumstances, art, where it still was tolerated, was only the instrument of ec- clesiastical discipline or the accompaniment of ascetic ecstasies, and became a sort of hiero- glyphic writing. Architecture kept up, almost alone, a normal evolution, and the formal and merely ceremo- nial worship of the old state gods had not ceased to demand the tribute of the architect when the new state deity came to command a new form of worship. Temples were re-dedi- cated to the saints, and the drift of artistic invention set in towards the decoration of the new churches. Mosaic, an invention of the Roman epoch, came in to give a new man- ner of decoration, and, as always is the case, brought out new forms of design in sympathy with the new material. With this, painting be- came the inferior method of wall-decoration, true fresco with its breadth and freedom not having been developed. During this entire period, from the second century after Christ, whose coming coincided approximately with the best period of Gr^co- Roman art and the complete and final pros- tration of Greece and the Greek national character, the degradation of the nobler forms of plastic art was continuous. The schools of art in the years between Augustus and Ha- drian were numerous, and not contemptible as to technical ability; and we have probably many statues preserved of a survival of Greek art whose age can hardly be determined within two or three centuries. But as Christianity became the official re- ligion of the whole Roman world, and absorbed all the spiritual, and most of the intellectual, energy of society, the most of that class of men who used to be artists, poets, and philosophers drifted away in the direction of the last light. I do not believe that there was any sudden and violent revulsion against paganism, for such sudden movements are not in keeping with history. Changes of system take place slowly. Faith and the ideals of art changed by imperceptible degrees, but there was a dis- location of the technical traditions of art. 6o THE BYZANTINES. Mosaic and wall-painting were not taught in the same workshops, and what was excellent in an Apollo or a Venus was no longer what was best for the sculptures with which the new churches were adorned. As the element of narrative took the place of the element of abstract ideal and perfection of type, the artist most in demand would naturally be the one who had the most vigorous invention and imagination. Symbolism became more and more important; haste and want of the old technical traditions substituted expressive ex- aggeration of movement for the old refine- ment of repose; and so we come to the first motives of what we know as Byzantine art. It was most prominent in the decoration of the churches, mosaic and sculpture of the capitals, friezes, etc.; then it came into the decoration of the sacred books, and these are probably the oldest real precursors of the Italian Renais- sance. Without attempting to trace the his- tory of Byzantine art, I wish to point to the fact that, while the sculpture of histories drawn mainly from the Bible in capital and relief for the ornament of the churches led to the Pisani, the traditions of painting preserved in pict- ures,— of which few remain to us, and none of the earlier centuries, — in miniatures, and in illustrations of manuscripts (of which we have some going back to the eighth and ninth centuries) led by legitimate development to the Italian art of the day of Cimabue. The manuscripts of the ninth and tenth centuries existing in the National Library at Paris, the Vatican at Rome, and the Laurentian of Florence, as well as the mosaics of St. Sophia, Salonica, and Ravenna, show the state of art centuries before the advent of Cimabue, the miniatures of the great libraries coming down to the so-called revival of art. These not only preserve the essential traditions of composi- tion and ideal of the classical school of paint- ing,— of which we get our most distinct idea from Pompeii, — but they employed a large class of workmen in work which all artists must learn to perform and on which all masterly art is founded : men trained to follow the types and execute the conceptions of the time, just as good house painters and decorators are trained to the execution of decorative work of various kinds, the imitation of woods, grain- ing, etc. They worked by certain rules, and al- ways without direct reference to nature, and thereby acquired great facility of execution and knowledge of the best methods of painting for the work they had to do. The enormous num- ber of churches and monasteries constructed from the time of Constantine to that of Jus- tinian show that an immense number of work- men must have been employed in building, but also that many books must have been needed to supply them all. In these, no doubt, the same luxury of adornment soon obtained as in the architecture. What we have of them is a mere fragment, but the roll of Joshua in the Vatican, and the manuscripts of. the National Gallery in Paris, show that, as art, the work of the ninth and tenth centuries was far in advance of that of the age of Cima- bue. The devastation of Constantinople by the Crusaders probably destroyed or dispersed the books of what was, to the Latins, a heret- ical church, and brought to Italy artists and works of art which refreshed the Italian art of that time, as later on the capture of Con- stantinople by the Turks in 1453 led to the Renaissance of literature. The little gospel of the Laurentian Library, A. D. 586, is admirable in the invention of its numerous illustrations, and far beyond the work of the Giottesques in the knowledge of the human figure. The two examples which Mr. Cole has reproduced are of an invention and naturalness such as no Italian artist of the twelfth century was capable of The mosaics of Ravenna of the sixth century by Byzantine artists have a decorative effect which was for centuries unknown to Italian art, and in the curve of an arch in the Cathedral of Torcello is one remaining design of Byzantine work which, as decoration, in color, in the facility of invention, is beyond all comparison superior to any of the later and more pretentious mosaics of the choir and front wall. These mosaics and many of the illustrations, as well as the capitals of the columns in various churches, St. Mark's at Venice included, show a general knowledge of the resources of art which was the school from which sprung the specially gifted men whose work we shall have to examine later; as from a well-organized army arise the men who are trained first to obey and then to command — with new ideas, but nothing new in the art. To the technical training and knowledge of methods and the sound subjective system of working, derived in part from the ancient Greeks through Byzan- tium, and handed down to the Italians of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we owe the possibility of Cimabue, Duccio, and Giotto. As decorative art, nothing that we know sur- passes certain Byzantine work from the fifth to the eleventh centuries ; but art having reached its limit on that side relaxed its efforts, and we shall find the Italian intellect of the age of Dante — doubtless then the first of the entire civilized world — coming to take possession of the artistic faculty and experience preserved by the Byzantine traditions. There is no break in the continuity, for we cannot always distin- guish the general work of the contemporaries of Cimabue from that of the hieratic painters SAINT AGNES. (BYZANTINE MOSAIC, SIXTH CENTURY. CHURCH OF SAN APOLLINARE NUOVO, RAVENNA.) Vol. XXXVII.— 9. 62 THE BYZANTINES. of the proper Byzantine school just preceding them. There was a new impulse, intellectual and individual, at this time ; that was all. Byzantine art in its own circle had had a sur- vival, a renaissance, about the eleventh century ; but, as applied to the churches, it was hke the faith — to a great extent mere formality, with here and there genuine vitality, and always holding the seeds of the future in its organism. W. J. StiUman. NOTES BY T. COLE, ENGRAVER. THE BYZANTINE MOSAICS. FLORENCE, June i8, 1887.— The mosaics in Ra- venna are the most surprisingly magnificent things I ever saw. I had an idea I should see something in the way of the things to be seen here in Florence in the Baptistery, but my breath was completely taken away on beholding the stupendous decorations of the church of San ApoUinare. They are exceeding airy, light, and delicate in color, and wonderfully subtile in the tints and rich in tone. Ravenna, July 3, 1887. — Nothing could excel these beautiful mosaics in delicacy and brilliancy of color ; as delicate as a breath, and sparkling like an array of tinted gems. I am seated before the procession of the twenty-two virgins and the magi bearing crowns and gifts to the infant Jesus, who is seated on the Madonna's lap with two angels on each side. One of the virgins is Saint Agnes [see cut, p. 61]. The background is gold, delicately shaded with light and dark brown tints. With my opera-glass I can see the separate stones; but withoutit, and at a proper distance, the tints blend, and the twinkling, bespangled effect of the whole is very pleasing. The leaves on the palm- trees are light and dark green — a light green palm between two dark green ones, and a dark palm be- tween two light green ones, and so on, all varying in shape and nothing repeated but the idea. Some of the green tints of the palms blend imperceptibly into the brownish tints of the background ; from the lower stems hang the cones, brownish red in color, each bunch varying in number and shape, and arranged vari- ously. This is the case with the most trifling detail: everything is arranged with the utmost care and thought towards the composition ; and viewed as a composition, it is simply a stupendous work. Each virgin carries a crown; no two are on the same level, but the line is beautifully broken up. The action of each virgin varies, and no two heads are posed alike. Sometimes both hands are draped, and again two or three in succession are bare, but in each case the farthermost hand is under- neath the drapery ; this would be necessary from the action of the white garment. The color of the dark robes is brownish and generally alike in tone, but extremely varied in pattern and arrangement and trimming; the highest lights are gold middle tints, light brownish and dark brown in the folds where it is the darkest. The cool-gray color of the white robes is remarkable, and the light on the folds, as it delicately increases to a higher light and warmer tone, shows that these old fellows had a very subtile sense of color. The flesh tints are warm and pinkish, shading to a brown- ish tone. The lower part of the background shades into green, but sometimes the green begins abruptly. These portions are usually filled by various designs of flowers : in the St. Agnes it is a lamb. The color of the trunks of the palm-trees is purplish, as in nature. The tone of the whole is gray, like nature. There is an atmospheric softness enveloping all, but the color is fresh all the same. The green of the background is fresh and clear. I forgot to mention the glories around the heads, which are the same in tone gener- ally as the background, but sometimes they are lighter and again darker, and some sparkle more than others. The dark rim on the outer edge is purple, sometimes approaching a reddish tone ; the light rim inside is a soft gray. Sometimes the rims are thicker and some- times thinner, and the glories are not always of the same size, and not perhaps struck off with a compass, though sometimes it appears so ; and then it is pleasant to see a perfect circle. The head is not always placed in the center, but the variety in the whole thing is sim- ply endless ; and the grace and dignity and symmetry are very lovely. These mosaics are much superior to anything that I have yet seen ; those of Florence and Venice are heavy and dull in color compared with these. Florence, Aug. 5, 1S87. — Very fine is the " Good Shepherd," which I have upon the block but could not do for want of time ; this is earlier by two centuries. It is probably the most complete thing as an illustration of these mosaics in every way considered, but it would have taken far more time to engrave, and for reasons of time only I selected the other. There, for instance, are the exquisitely finished things of the San ApoUinare outside the city, which are, however, so marvelously brilliant in color as to make me feel that they have been retouched by some cunning fellow, so out of keeping are they with all the surroundings. Certainly those in San Vitale are all gone' over, and are glaring and decid- edly inferior in color to those of the former church. See Vol. L "History of Christian Art," by Lindsay. THE BYZANTINE MANUSCRIPT ILLUMINATIONS. Florence, July 30, 1887. — I send you these few notes on the early By- zantine manuscript illumi- nations [in the Lauren- tian Library]. The man- uscript is of the tenth century, entitled Pliitio 6, Cod ice 2 J. If any one wants to consult it he can ^ make a note of the title, for I that is necessary for the T-coLr"';^ I Lori !ir- librarian to know. How wonderfully fresh is the THE VISION, (l.AURENTIAN . "L , LIBRARY, FLORENCE.) coloruig ! 1 Can scarcely CIMABUE. 63 THE PASSION. (from LAU'RENTIAN LIBRARY, FLORENCE.) believe that I am looking into a book that is nearly a thousand years old. Some of the illuminations are so clean and fresh that they seem but lately done — not the slightest taint of yellowness, unless it be in the parchment itself, and what touches of white there are have remained as pure as though put on but yesterday. The fineness of the detail can only be thoroughly appre- ciated under a magnifying glass, — as in the feet with their sandals and straps, and in the expressions of the faces and hands ; the hatchings of gold on the garments and the shrubbery are as delicate as a cobweb. The glories are of gold also. The delicate hatchings of gold are not visible until the light catches the page slantingly, when they shine out in the glories with surprising lus- ter. It was impossible for me to do anything like justice to these wonderfully delicate things in engrav- ing, and my proofs of them are but lifeless things at best. The gold hatchings I could only suggest by the finest possible white lines ; but then these mingle up and are lost with the whites in the high lights of the folds. And then the various colors of the garments, green, blue, yellow, red, etc., are all lost in black and white, and the marvelous delicacy of the detail could by no means be approached in wood engraving. You will see these same gold hatchings in the works of Cimabue and Duccio; while the distinction between the apostles and the heretics in the Byzantine, given in the uncovered feet and legs of the former opposed to the black legs of the latter, is alike characteristic of Duccio, as well as the grouping of the figures. Each illumination is designed to tell several progressive stages in the story — as, for instance, in the one I have called " The Passion," the first group is illustrative of the passage, " They went out unto the Mount of Olives " (the Mount is indicated behind Jesus). "Jesus saith unto them. All ye shall be offended because of me this night." Peter answers, "Although all shall be offended, yet will not I." Peter is seen bending forward from the group. In the second group the story is continued, and he leaves the disciples and goes aside to pray. The third part, to the right of the tower, shows him in the garden praying; a ray from heaven is descending upon him. The fourth group would seem to tell the moment when he ex- claims, " Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners." In the other block is seen the moment of the betrayal, the unbelievers being distinguished by their black legs. Peter is shown cutting off the ear of the servant of the high priest. These illuminations are distinguished by great certainty of touch. Those in the first half of the book are much superior to those in the latter half. The initial piece that I have called "The Vision" is from the latter half T. Cole. TCoiE Fi.oP.ENct THE BETRAYAL. (FROM MANUSCRIPT IN LAURENTIAN LIBRARY, FLORENCE.) CIMABUE. HE early history of any phase or found them. These legends are generally epoch of art is always mingled, based on the achievements that seemed to to a certain extent, with the the people most marvelous, because the le- mythical; and its legends, which gend is always born of popular admiration are the foundation of all artistic and imagination ; and as a necessary conse- celebrity, grow until some defi- quence they record the triumphs that strike nite historical authority fixes them, not always the common mind, uneducated in art. For- in their true relation to fact, but where it tune, maybe, has favored Zeuxis and Apellcs 64 CIMABUE. by having left them the fame accorded by their primitive critics and destroyed all works by which we might have checked it. The taste even of an educated public is only equal to the art it has been trained on, and is, therefore, always behind the best of the day ; so that any advance from that is sufficient to excite its en- thusiasm, and much more so that of the masses; and the greatest impressibility, and hence the most uncontrolled enthusiasm, accompany invariably the lower state of education in art. The popular triumphs, the processions of ad- miration, and all the elements which make the legends of early art, are not material enough for the determination of the rank of an artist. What the ignorant wonder at is what a trained taste generally despises ; and while it is possible that the development of the art of painting un- der Zeuxis was worthy of the sculpture of the period, we have no indication of the fact ; but, on the contrary, the legends preserved to us indicate that his great successes were those of a very low technical development. To under- stand this, one has only to note the extravagant admiration which certain very crude efforts of the itinerant portrait-painter excite to-day in rural circles, and even among compar- atively educated people with no sound art- training. With Cimabue we touch the middle ground, where the legendary can be to a slight extent put to proof; and we find, as usual, that what the popular taste fancied worthy of the most unrestrained exaltation — his presumed fidelity to nature — is an illusion, and that his great virtues — the extreme, and perhaps immediately before him unexampled, devotion to his art, and sincerity in technical treatment of his sub- jects — were never noted by the legend-makers as part of his endowments. It is doubtful if there has ever been any sudden great advance in art. Accident, per- haps oftener than transcendent merit, has led to certain men being made the personification of the art of their day, while as good or better men have lapsed into oblivion ; and this to a certain extent has served the fame of Cimabue. We, looking at art from the modern and sci- entific point of view, translate the reputation which Cimabue got in his own day, of bringing art back to nature, as implying that he was, in our sense of the word, naturalistic as compared with his predecessors. To understand his real merits this reputation must be utterly demol- ished, for it puts him in a false light. Neither he nor his contemporaries or immediate successors ever studied nature in the sense of making di- rect use of a model or natural object. Their art was traditional, set about by rules both techni- cal and theological, which left the field for dis- tinction mainly in a better and more complete technique, minuter and more facile execution, etc., which probably Cimabue acquired to the extent of an important advance on his mas- ters. But to estimate rightly this phase of Ital- ian art one must recognize the wide difference between Cimabue's education and that which is the object of art schools nowadays. Sacred subjects alone were admissible, and these were treated according to set rules, as they still are in the Byzantine schools of Mt. Athos ; only certain poses were permitted to certain sub- jects, and the types, methods, colors, and compositions were rigidly determined. This education Cimabue conformed to, and in realization, which to us is the meaning of " natural," his pictures had no more to boast of than those of his predecessors and his con- temporaries. We have seen, and shall have further evidence, that Cimabue was part of a general quickening of art, and that the revival of painting with which he is identified was one that far outreached his career, retrospectively and prospectively, and was, in fact, the slow re- animation of the hieratic and prescriptive types carried on for generations, and not invented or developed by one mind — Byzantine art, in fact, roused from its lethargy and made progressive by many painters under the influence of the general intellectual awakening of Italy, begin- ning just before Dante and continuing until the sixteenth century. This awakening was more complete in the active Tuscan brain, stimulated by commercial prosperity and civic independence and possibly by the con- stant contest for liberty, than in other parts of Italy. There is a curious parallel to this in the change wrought on Greek sculpture when the archaic, traditional types were carried from the Peloponnesus into the Attic atmosphere and ripened there into the perfected ideal art. And the analogy goes further in the decline of both schools from the ideal to the naturalistic. In the antecedents of the two great revivals the preparation was the same — technical training, mastery of handicrafts, bronze-casting, marble- cutting, and wood-carving in the one, and in the other the processes of tempera and wall-paint- ing ; facility of execution being acquired, as it can only be acquired in the greatest excellence, by following and completing the conventional ideals by the aid of more perfect knowledge. Painters and mosaicists of the Byzantine school had been for some time, perhaps for several centuries, at work in Florence, as we know that at Ravenna and Venice they had been at work as early as the eighth century. To one of these painters Giovanni Cimabue was apprenticed, after the fashion of the time, as he would have been to any other trade. He had been judged to be a clever boy and worthy CIMABUE. 65 to be educated, in a time when only the clever boys were considered worth the trouble and expense of education, and was sent to the con- vent of Santa Maria Novella to be taught let- ters. In place of attending to his grammar, he passed his time, like many a school-boy since, in drawing in his books and on other blank spaces " men, horses, houses, and all kinds of fantastic things," which talent, con- sidering that all books were in manuscript and of greater value than our " first readers," and that Solomon was regarded in those days as the head of magisterial wisdom, was most prob- ably recompensed primarily by the rod. But the lad had his own way, for "certain Greek painters," /. WAS a pleasant Sunday morning while the spring was in its glory, J- English spring of gentle glory; smoking by his cottage door. Florid-faced, the man-o'-war's-man told his white-head boy the story. Noble story of Aboukir, told a hundred times before. g6 THE STORY OF THE ''ORIENT:' " Here, the Theseus — here, the Vanguard^\- as he spoke each name sonorous, — Minotaur, Defcjice, Majestic, stanch old comrades of the brine, That against the ships of Brueys made their broadsides roar in chorus, — Ranging daisies on his door-stone, deft he mapped the battle-hne. Mapped the curve of tall three-deckers, deft as might a man left-handed, Who had given an arm to England later on at Trafalgar. While he poured the praise of Nelson to the child with eyes expanded, Bright athwart his honest forehead blushed the scarlet cutlass-scar. For he served aboard the Vanguard, ^2i\N the Admiral blind and bleeding Borne below by silent sailors, borne to die as then they deemed. Every stout heart sick but stubborn, fought the sea-dogs on unheeding, Guns were cleared and manned and cleared, the battle thundered, flashed, arid screamed. Till a cry swelled loud and louder, — towered on fire the Orient stately, Brueys' flag-ship, she that carried guns a hundred and a score; Then came groping up the hatchway he they counted dead but lately. Came the little one-armed Admiral to guide the fight once more. " ' Lower the boats ! ' was Nelson's order." — But the listening boy beside him, Who had followed all his motions with an eager wide blue eye, Nursed upon the name of Nelson till he half had deified him. Here, with childhood's crude consistence, broke the tale to question "Why?" For by children facts go streaming in a throng that never pauses. Noted not, till, of a sudden, thought, a sunbeam, gilds the motes. All at once the known words quicken, and the child would deal with causes. Since to kill the French was righteous, why bade Nelson lower the boats ? Quick the man put by the question. " But the Orient, none could save her; We could see the ships, the ensigns, clear as daylight by the flare; And a many leaped and left her; but, God rest 'em! some were braver; Some held by her, firing steady till she blew to God knows w4iere." At the shock, he said, the Vanguard shook through all her timbers oaken ; It was like the shock of Doomsday, — not a tar but shuddered hard. All was hushed for one strange moment; then that awful calm was broken By the heavy plash that answered the descent of mast and yard. So, her cannon still defying, and her colors flaming, flying, In her pit her wounded helpless, on her deck her Admiral dead, Soared the Orient into darkness with her living and her dying: " Yet our lads made shift to rescue three-score souls," the seaman said. Long the boy with knit brows wondered o'er that friending of the foeman; Long the man with shut lips pondered; powerless he to tell the cause Why the brother in his bosom that desired the death of no man. In the crash of battle wakened, snapped the bonds of hate like straws. While he mused, his toddling maiden drew the daisies to a posy; « Mild the bells of Sunday morning rang across the church-yard sod ; And, helped on by tender hands, with sturdy feet all bare and rosy, Climbed his babe to mother's breast, as climbs the slow world up to God. Helefi Gray Cone. BIRD MUSIC: THE LOON, OR GREAT NORTHERN DIVER. HE loon is not a singer, but his calls and shoutings exhibit so great a variety of vocal qualities that we must consider him a member of Nature's orchestra. In the summer of 1887 I spent a few weeks on the borders of Trout Lake, St. Lawrence County, N. Y. This beau- tiful little island-dotted lake, some three miles long, has been inhabited for years by three or four pairs of loons. There they lay their eggs and rear their young, and there I found a good opportunity to study them. On one occasion a small party of us discovered a nest. When we were yet a good way off, the wary sitter slid from sight into the water, darted along be- neath our boat, and was far out into the lake before she came to the surface. The nest, sim- ply a little cavity in dry muck, was on the ruins of an old muskrat house, not more than eight or ten inches above the water. There were two very dark eggs in it, — nevermore than two are found in the nest of the loon, — nearly as large as those of a goose. The time of sitting, as I was informed, is four weeks. Wilson says of the loons that " they light upon their nests " ; but a careful observer, who had several times seen the female make her way from the water to her nest, told me that they shove themselves to it on their breasts, very much as they push themselves in the •water. I was also informed that the young are never fed upon the nest, but are taken to the water on the back of the mother, where they remain and are fed for a time, and then are launched upon the waves for life. At this age one can row up to them and take them in the hand, which they delight in giving hard nips with their long and hmber bills; but when a month old they seem as wild and cunning as their parents. I had several lively frolics with a pair about that age which were already expert divers and could swim many rods under water. As we neared them in the boat great excitement was manifested by both old and young; the little ones dived in a flash and the parents made off rapidly, shouting for us to follow them. How they knew the direction the young ones took under water I cannot say; but they were sure to take quite another course. After learning their trick we turned to go from them, when suddenly there was a furious dashing and splashing just behind us, and in a moment more one of them rushed by, very near us, both fly- ing and swimming, with wings in the air and feet in the water. He swept by us with a noise like a steamboat, but no boat could equal his speed. At every stroke of his wings he smote the water as well as the air. It is the opinion of many that the loon uses the wings under water, and it now seems to me possible if not probable. When the family discovered that we were only at play with them, they became quiet for a few moments ; but presently there went up a strange, wild cry of three tones, the second one being long and loud, and all so much like the call of the human voice that no sensitive per- son could hear them without surprise and emo- tion. These notes represent them : Si*: ^=nt :t=: Wilson thought the European divers were of a different species from the American divers, they diftered so much in size. He cites a European specimen that weighed sixteen pounds, against the usual weight of our divers, which he puts at eight and a half pounds. The point of size would not seem to be well taken, for I have seen in the collection of Mr. Vickary, the taxidermist of Lynn, the body of one of our divers which weighed twelve pounds; and Mr. Vickary informs me that one was once sent to him which weighed seventeen pounds. The loon is a born aristocrat. He is no tri- fler : everything he does bears an intellectual stamp. A solitary, mating only with the ele- ments, he is master of winds and waves, sitting the waters with sovereign grace and dignity,, equally unconcerned in calm and tempest. Sur- prised by danger, he dives fearlessly and swims the depths with incredible swiftness and for an astonishing length of time, finally emerging far away in triumph and in defiance of his pursuers. Then, if the attractions of his other element inspire him, he rises and flies rapidly through the upper air, shouting over and over his most characteristic five tones: :t^tS-S 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00. 00, 00. 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00, 00. 00, 00, 00, 00, 00. 00 VoL. XXXVII.— 14. Simeon Pease Cheney, WHERE WAS "THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY"? S N the morning of the first day that our party spent in Jerusalem, as soon as the tents were pitched out upon the hill near the Rus- sian convent, and a home thus established for the week's so- journ, three of us set forth for a walk around the city, with but a small sense of the force of hot sunshine falling upon white paths and glow- ing walls when the full strength of a Syrian noontide should be attained. We entered the town by the Damascus gate and pursued our way along the narrow and tortuous streets until we came out through St. Stephen's gate upon the slope leading down across the Kidron valley : we followed the path that passes the Tomb of the Virgin Mary and the Garden of Gethsemane, working our steps up the middle road to the very top of Mount Olivet. The story of this trip appears quite simple, and one would hardly suppose that we should find its accomplishment so fatiguing. It is a surprise to most tourists to discover the steep- ness of some of these paths : that which runs down from the spot where one tradition says that Stephen was stoned is actually precipitous; the track for horses is cut in angular zigzags with acute turnings so as to render it possible for the animals to climb up, or to keep from slipping headlong on the descent. We were conducted in this instance by a young man from the mission of the English Church, an Armenian by birth but a Protestant by belief and experience, being one of the converts God has given for the fidelity of those laborers in the Gospel who so long have been working in Jerusalem. He wore his usual costume — a long worsted robe of a maroon color, girt around the waist, and edged with a variegated border. He could under- stand and speak our language readily, and was constantly of help to us in giving us the names of localities and buildings along the course. His strength was terribly tested by the sinewy impetuosity and tirelessness of our enthusiasm ; and long before we relaxed that zeal of exploration which only Americans ex- ercise, we discovered pitifully that his lagging limbs sought rest at every chance pause for conversation and debate. He was cheerful on every demand; but, like Eastern people generally in that region, enervate and weak in his muscles. Our little trio was made up of Professor John A. Paine of Robert College in Constan- tinople, Mr. Alfred H. Hall, then a student in preparation for the ministry, and, since, the able and well-known pastor of one of the Con- gregational churches in Connecticut, in com- pany with the writer of this article. We agreed in the interest we took in the amiable young man who showed us the objects of common in- vestigation. When, in the years that have since flitted away, we have talked over that walk, the conversation has often turned upon his pleasant, gentle manner, with, an affectionate recollection of his simple-minded faith and trustful joyousness of spirit. He was entirely free, so far as we could observe, from any superstition or formality, and his regard for Jesus as his Saviour was personal and devout ; and I am bound to say that intimacy with him on that occasion led me into a more sat- isfied and a less exacting mood concerning what are reported as Christian converts in an ordinary course of missionary endeavor in heathen countries. At last we reached the small church build- ing planted professedly — quite mistakenly as to locality, however — to mark the spot of Christ's ascension to heaven. We mounted the dirty staircase, and worried ourselves along' into a little chairless room in the steeple, where a quiet old man gave us an awkward welcome to a seat on the floor. I pulled up a piece of straw matting for our seat, and so we ranged ourselves close to a narrow window looking down on the entire city. An inimitably fine view is that spread out before one who is studying details of streets, walls, domes, min- arets, public edifices, hills, and valleys. Directly in front lay " the joy of the whole earth." The exclamation which one first makes concerning this pathetic old town has only wonder in it — Where are the suburbs? The buildings run up to the wall in most places, though in one or two of the corners they do not appear to reach it quite. Outside of the inclosure there are no houses to be seen at all : the slopes of Zion, Ophel, Bezetha, are really attractive as sites, but no such thing as a villa has been erected upon them. It looks as if all the people had, from time immemo- rial, lived on the inside of a stone line of ma- sonry ; in literal as well as scriptural language, " Jerusalem is builded as a city that is com- pact together." . And now, for a small space in this article, the narration has to become somewhat per- sonal— more so than pleases the writer. But I WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? 99 must put myself in the place of a witness for the object I have in view. I confessed afterwards to my companions that I had purposely brought them to this out- look, and that I now led the conversation with the utmost semblance of artlessness, for a single reason. We talked a little while about the points of compass, the lay of the land, the ele- vations of the surrounding hihs, the towers and walls, the^ gates and sites ; and so in the sweep of our eyes we came around to the north side of the parallelogram on the plan of Avhich the place is outlined. Suddenly, in a tranquil sort of comment, as if a conceit had struck his fancy, Mr. Hall said, "That is a very curious conformation of rocks off there beyond the Damascus gate." We turned our eyes in the direction he indicated. "It looks as much like a skull as anything I ever saw," continued he. Professor Paine, alert and eager as ever after, in the days when he identified Mount Nebo, sprang to his feet, straining his gaze with amazement, and positively quiver- ing with the passionate thought that he had made a new discovery. What we all saw was this : in the immedi- ate vicinity of that gate he mentioned, the yellow wall of the city appeared to have been built steeply up over what seemed a quar- ried cliff, through the strata of which was cut a path, leading on the outside around to the main road crossing from east to west along the north frontier, down out of vision from where we sat. We had to look over the corner of the city, across the angle formed by the east wall and the north, in order to see it. A deep excavation had been made, the bottom of which, leveled for the use of men and beasts, we could not reach; we could only trace the lines of cutting on the stone. The bare face of the precipice opposite the entrance was distinctly exposed ; and the top — that is, the original surface of the hill — was rounded so as to present against the sky the almost exact outline of a human skull. Moreover, there were visible two cavities or holes in the rock ; these served as eyeless sockets. Thus a sort of side view, the forehead fronting south-west, was offered. The name of Golgotha came at once to our remembrance. This must have been " the place of a skull," if likeness to a skull was enough to prove it. So startling was this resemblance that it made a deep impression on the minds of all of us. I had noticed the same thing some years before, on the occasion of my first visit to Jerusalem, in 1867. And this was just my purpose in bringing those intelligent observers out on the hillside that clear morning, without warning or explanation. I intended to test their accuracy and quickness in discovering for themselves the configuration and markings of that singular spot, without the prompting of any suggestion of my own. I said to Professor Paine : " Sit down and quiet yourself now. This is what I gave you your tough walk for : I had a letter just before I left home in Paris, which I want to read to you." This communication had been addressed to me by an old and trusted friend in the city of Brooklyn, Mr. Fisher Howe. He had been known and loved for many years as an elder in the First Presbyterian Church of that place., of which I was the pastor at the time. Sir J. William Dawson has referred to Mr. Howe with merited commendation, and evidently with sincere respect. But that he does not know just who he was, a mere mention of his name reveals ; twice he calls him " Dr. Fisher Howe." My good and dear friend had culti- vation and education, and some erudite acqui- sitions that were worth having ; but he never bore anything like a literary or professional title growing out of an advanced college honor or degree. But, practically, he was a good scholar in New Testament Greek, and could manage Hebrew as well as some clergymen who have misused better chances. He read widely in the best sorts of reading, and what he read he generally kept where it was avail- able. He died several years ago, having done what he could for his generation in all such ways of usefulness as are open to genuine zeal. But he never expected to be put into literature by the President of the British As- sociation. He was simply a gentleman of wealth, high social position, real intellectual force, self-educated in the matters of advanced scholarship he loved to study, refined in man- ners, enthusiastic in Oriental travel — as any one grows to be who has journeyed through the countries of the Bible — and has given to the world a book full of his gains and his wistful wishes. As I write now there lies before me a copy of a volume he issued in 1853, entitled " Oriental and Sacred Scenes." It was pub- lished by M. W. Dodd of New York City, and was welcomed as a good book. A notable fact is this in the present discussion ; for that work shows he then was eagerly planning and study- ing about the true site of Calvary. Still, he was an active business man through his life ; in his late and maturer years he was President of the Brooklyn White Lead Company, and honored in the City of Churches as one of the best citizens it claimed for worth and public spirit. But in literature he was only a layman. That letter which I referred to, and which now I read to my companions, was written to me with a definite purpose by Mr. Howe; he desired me to make some observations and report to him the results. The subject that loo WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARV ? interested him most was this identification of Calvary as the place of our Lord's crucifixion. We had talked it over more than a hundred times together during the three or four years previous to this journey I was then making in the East. The paragraph explains itself. He says: I may have mentioned to you, previous to your first visit to Jerusalem, a lingering thought in regard to the place of crucifixion. When we lodged on Acra, we had :from the roof of our house a full view of the rocky ■eminence near the Damascus gate; it is known by designation as the Grotto of Jeremiah. I believe it -lies outside of what was the line of the second wall, 'but "nigh" unto it; and that it may not have been materially changed during the last eighteen centuries. As seen from a distance, the elevation is a '-'■ h-anion'''' in shape, and might well, in common parlance, have the cognomen of "a skull." Now, all this may seem childish as seen by you, for I am not certain when the thought got into my head. I did examine the locality of the Damascus gate in regard to the evidences of the second wall, and well remember to have noted the wide and deep excavations between the present wall and the knoll referred to, and to have marked the curvatures of the strata of limestone rock; and came to the conclusion that the excavation dated back to the Christian era. The curvatures are marked on either side, showing the same original formation ; and with the evidence then before me, I believed tliat the present wall at the place in question occupied the line of the second wall. This is all that needs quoting from that particular letter. But as we read it over up there on the hillside, we could not forbear surprise and compliment at the evidence of careful observation and tenacious memory in his thus giving minute details of a visit that had been made so many years before. The reply which I sent to this letter when the con- clusions of our little party had been reached was embodied partly in the book that Mr. Howe published the next year. This was called " The True Site of Calvary." It was a thin octavo of sixty-eight pages, issued by A. D. F. Randolph, New York City, 187 1. So modest was it in look and size that it raised no popular enthusiasm in the notice taken of it, and after the first edition was exhausted it fell out of print. Of late it has been called for again; for now the site seems to be actually ac- cepted, and there is a sort of competition among explorers as to the credit of having first sug- gested the knoll by the Damascus gate as being probably the exact place where our Lord was crucified. Mr. Howe's object in his publication was to set forth the plainest arguments for his con- jecture in the plainest way. No one can make light of his work; he writes calmly, and at- tempts nothing eloquent^is, indeed, rather too terse and dry for popular rhetoric. But Sir J. William Dawson testifies to his having summed up the Scripture proofs for his purpose " with great care," and calls his argument " able." If real students choose to read what he has said, they will go with him to his conclusions now ; but when he wrote that volume all the world seemed afraid to challenge the absurd tradi- tion which fixed the crucifixion up in the air over a graded hill, under the roof of an old structure that contains everything, and the burial-place of Jesus not far from it, beneath the same dome. Mr. Howe was in Jerusalem in 1853. For eighteen years thqj^eafter he was occupied with studying all the authorities that he could find upon the subject ; his mind was full of the theme. In 1870 he writes that he does not know how long ago the thoughts got into his mind ; and withm a twelvemonth lie lays his book before the public. It is simply candid to assert that he was first in the field with his orderly proofs, seven or eight years before any of those vdio now seek to pass his volume by had given their slow adhesion to his arguments and begun to claim the credit of having supplied them to the public. The necessity of this case required in the outset that he should state what the evangel- ists have to say, and what other allusions found in the New Testament demand in reference to the site. He makes, with a conspicuous italiciz- ing of his words, six points, in their turn : First. That the place of the crucifixion was outside the walls of Jerusalem; and he ad- duces Hebrews xiii. 1 2 ; Matthew xxvii. 31,32; John xix. 16, 17, with parallel passages from other gospels saying the same. Second. That this place was nigh to the city. (John xix. 20.) Third. That it was popularly known under the general designation of Xrrt';//(5';^. He notes the meaning of Golgotha and of Calvaiy^ and then he quotes Matthew xxvii. ^2^ ; Luke xxiii.' 33 ; and John xix. 20. Fourth. That it was obviously nigh to one of the leading thoroughfares to and from Jeru- salem. (Matthew xxvii. 39 ; Mark xv. 29.) Fifth. That this spot was very conspicu- ous; that is, it could be seen by those at a distance. (Matthew xxvii. 55 ; Luke xxiii. 35 ; John xix. 20.) Sixth. That it was nigh to, not only sepul- chers, but also gardens. (John xix. 38-42.) Then to these enumerations of proofs he adds his entire conclusion : "No sophistry, or in- terposed traditional authority or belief, can be allowed to evade these plain demands of the written word of God. Failure to meet one of them is proper ground for suspicion ; failure in all is good cause for rejecting any site, tra- ditional or hypothetical." With these proposi- tions he proceeds to apply his tests. Of course, therefore, the earHest thing this author was obliged to set himself definitely to accomplish was to destroy the force of an WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? lOI ^ N HILLftFEVL OUNSEL^ N O VA '^ ■ -^ .^ r -r" \ Q. , * ■■ Hi ' -^ tf^ '^ A v.•s^\\^ JOABS WCLL H \.^ PQGtV. !E?*0'?, 0 ??, >^ m MAP OF JERUSALEM Scale of Teet LINC OF WALL MODERN WALL ANCIENT „ SECOIVO >, VERY OLD WALL \ SECOND <. J AUTHORITY ^ORDINANCE \sM iTh's an E SURVEY C.ATLAS \SMITH S AUC. ATLAS ,. hezekiah] streets '"jd roads \KIEPERTS established tradition in favor of the so-called Church of the Holy Sepulcher. He marshaled his proofs to show that this building could not be reckoned as ever having been outside of the city. Hence he entered into the controversy about the walls of that historic old capital with a map and a Bible in his hands. And it is precisely there that an article like this for a popular magazine will be shy in attempting to go along his tracks. The map which accom- panies this sketch of Mr. Howe's process of reasoning is a great deal better than the one he copied from a guide-book of his time. It will do its own work in exhibiting how utterly impossible it is to twist Jerusalem into a straggling figure of awkwardness sufficiently wretched to allow of that rambling and mys- terious piece of architecture being considered outside the wall. If one would take his stand upon the knoll by the Damascus gate and look over on the city, finding the domes and towers of the church conspicuous in the grouping al- most at the center of the town, he would own the difficulty instantly. Mr. Howe discusses this in his " Oriental and Sacred Scenes," and throws all his force against that traditional theory even from the beginning. It is useless Vol. XXXVIL— 15. here to waste space in argument ; it is enough to say that nobody has ever answered the ob- jections of such scholars as Dr. Edward Rob- inson, Dr. William M. Thomson, and scores of other writers of more or less repute. It is impossible to meet the scriptural conditions with that locality; and there is no other in Jerusalem which will meet them except that by the Grotto of Jeremiah. The only representative site for Calvary now offered pilgrims in Jerusalem is found in a couple of rooms inside the old edifice ; one is owned and exhibited by the Greeks, another by the Latins. These share the same disability ; both — since the church is already so full of traditions on the ground floor — liad to go up a flight of stairs into free space nearer the roof And there it is, amidst tawdry curtains and gilt be- dizenments of candles and altar-shrines, that this ancient spot upon which the cross of Jesus Christ rested is pointed out, and the veritable hole is shown in which it was planted. And the thieves' crosses — a decorous but rather inadequate distance of five feet between them on the right and left of the middle one — are ranged alongside. And down underneath, far below across some intervening space left by I02 WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? grading away the actual soil of the hill, so we are sagely told, is the grave of Adam ! Tradi- tion has related that at the crucifixion of Jesus some drops of blood fell through upon Adam's skull and raised him suddenly to life; and there are commentators who declare that so the pro- phecy quoted by the apostle Paul (Ephesians V. 14) was well fulfilled: "Awake, thou Adam enough : it would put an end to the awkward and offensive impostures daily exhibited under the roof of that filthy old church. They are a standing mockery of the claims of the Chris- tianity they profess to uphold. Those ceremo- nies of Easter at the tomb where our Lord is declared to have been buried are a caricature of an event so glad and holy. The struggle GROTTO OF JEREMIAH. that sleepest [for thus the former versions read in the text], and arise from the dead, for Christ shall touch thee." The art-people say that this is the origin of the fact that in those early rude representations of the death of our Lord a skull is introduced. Can any man of sensibility be blamed if he makes an imperious demand that something more — something else at least — shall greet him in answer to his question. Where was our Lord crucified ? If there should be no other advantage gained by the acceptance of a new site as now proposed, this would be around the flames that are chemically forced out of the smoky hole in the sepulcher, so that devotees in frantic zeal may light their lamps, brings death from the trampling of thousands, fills the house with howls that put heathenism to shame, and sends true believers away with an infinite disgust and horror deep in their hearts. How long must such a scandal be patiently endured? Mr. James Fe'rgusson, certainly one of the highest authorities on all architectural subjects, says plainly he thinks that the idea of an in- terior building like that of the Church of the WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? 103 Sepulcher containing the site of the crucifixion and burial is too absurd to merit serious refuta- tion \ and he does not believe it would require it but for the open admission in all opposing arguments of the lack of any one's being able to say, or even to hint, where the true site is. To this remark he is wilHng to add his con- viction that the present traditional notion will never be broken up until this practical want is supplied. Here is the real flaw in the logic : " Men will twist and torment facts and evidence until they make it quite clear, to their own minds, that what they wish to be true must be so." It is not necessary to accept this conclu- sion as absolute; some delusions concerning sites have been surrendered, and still the places emptied of them in the popular folly have not been as yet authentically filled. There is a positive advantage always in the settlement which common sense makes in putting down an imposture, just for its own sake; and we hope this has become possible, in these later times, with that church of Helena's building in the city of Jerusalem, But there is still greater gain in putting down an imposture and erecting in the place of it a truth and a fact. In his bright book of letters from Palestine entitled " Haifa," Mr. Laurence Oliphant offers the results of modern observation and discussion with swift and in- telligible words that are very welcome; espe- cially in this instance it is worth our while to find and note the present posture of thought. He says : Every indication goes to show that Golgotha, or Calvary, was a knoll outside the Damascus gate, exactly in the opposite direction to that affixed by Christian tradition, and which would do away with the Via Dolo)-osa as a sacred thoroughfare, the street shown as that along which Christ bore his cross on his way to execution. It is only probable that Calvary was the ordinary exe- cution ground of Jerusalem, which is called in the Talmud "the House of Stoning" about A. D. 150, and which current tradition among the Jews identifies with this knoll — a tradition borne out by the account of it contained in the Mishnah, or text of the Talmud, which describes a cliff over which the condemned was thrown by the first witness. If he was not killed by the fall, the second witness cast a stone upon him, and the crowd on the cliff, or beneath it, completed his execu- tion. It was outside the gate, at some distance from the judgment-hall. The knoll in question is just outside the gate, with a cliff about fifty feet high. Moreover, we are informed that sometimes they sunk a beam in the ground, and a cross-beam extended from it, and they bound his hands one over the other, and hung him up. Thus the House of Stoning was a recognized place of crucifixion. It is curious that an early Chris- tian tradition pointed to this site as the place of ston- ing of Stephen, the proto-martyr. The vicinity has apparently always been considered unlucky. An Arab writer in the Middle Ages pronounces a barren tract adjoining accursed and haunted, so that the traveler should not pass at night. Many modern explorers have accepted the conclusion noted above; most of those who have written on the theme have marshaled their arguments to give it proof And what is remarkable beyond anything else is the fact that these arguments are the same as those used by my old and dear friend Mr. Fisher Howe more than a quarter of a century ago. The spot has been named the " Grotto of Jeremiah " for no reason that has any sense in it. The story was that the old prophet lived inside of the strange cavern at the base, as a hermit would live in some cleft of the hillside ; that he penned his commentaries there, and composed his prophetic book, and sang his melancholy Lamentations. Still, this proves nothing; and history says that this prophet lived in Egypt for the later years of his career, and wrote his messages back to his loved peo- ple who exiled him, dwelling in Pharaoh's house in Tahpanhes. But the cave is wonderfully extensive ; some say it is a hundred feet deep. Indeed, the ex- cavations under the entire hill must have been the work of ages, and would be considered a wonder anywhere else than in the vicinity of Jerusalem. The cliff is shorn sheer down, as if cut with a chisel, and presents a perpen- dicular facade fifty feet high. Close by it are many graves, and underneath the so-called grotto are vast cisterns of pure water. The whole hillside is venerable and majestic. It looks like one of the oldest and most imper- ishable landmarks of that suburb, and could not fail to have been from time immemorial a notable place to all who went out or in by the gate leading towards the north. Among those who have written most ably and most recently on this subject is Dr. Selah Merrill, for some time the American consul at Jerusalem. He there enjoyed very rare op- portunities for his study, and whatever he offers is worthy of profound respect. This tes- timony is from his pen : For some years past there has been a growing con- viction that the hill in which Jeremiah's Grotto is shown, situated a little to the north-east of the Damas- cus gate, satisfied the conditions as to the site of Calvary better than any other spot in or around Jeru- salem. Indeed, a large number of competent scholars have already accepted this hill as Golgotha. From the Mount of Olives and Scopus, from the road lead- ing north past the Russian buildings west of the city, from many points north of the town, and from many of the house-tops within Jerusalem itself, this hill at- tracts the eye by its prominence. On the north slope of the hill the slaughter-house of Jerusalem stood until two years since (1883), when it was removed to a more suitable locality north-east of the town. In its place two buildings have been erected, one of which is used as a residence. From these a high wall has been constructed, running past the large " Meis '' tree still standing there, which many will remember, and on towards the foot of the hill on the west. The west- ern slope is composed of barren earth and broken rock, but at the bottom on this side there is a large garden, where, some feet below the surface of the WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? *v .^. ^^ .. ^'-'^^ f- >*^ "i" *^ ^ ■■» -S -w. _ PLACE OF THE SKULL. d, ruins have been found which are marked in aps as an "asnerie" — a term, however, which /s no adequate idea of the extent and character ruins. south face is vertical, and has in it the so-called to of Jeremiah," Farther along in this southern /hich does not run in a straight line, great quan- )f stone have been quarried within the past few Towards the east the hill does not fall in a slope, but, as it were, in two terraces. The hill »e said to be prolonged in this direction, the n knoll or second terrace being a little lower he other. : entire summit of the hill is covered with m graves. This fact has no doubt prevented the hill from being bought up and built upon hithei and this alone still prevents the ground from pass into the hands of foreigners. This graveyard is old one ; and who can say that the hand of Providei is not specially visible in the preservation of this sf in this strange manner, from the disgusting and grading monkish traditions which would otherw have sprung up about it ? The brisk rehearsal of Mr. Howe's argumc is, therefore, all that at present is needed complete the exhibition I have been trying make of what he has done in the direction establishment and proofs. WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? 105 First. This spot is certainly outside the walls of the city. No one will ever have to make crooked pictures, and distort circumval- lations, in order with such a site to meet this text : " Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suf- fered without the gate." Second. The place of the crucifixion was nigh to the city. No time needs to be lost in saying that this knoll is close beside the gate on the north, which has for unreckoned years been unchanged and changeless in location. All the lay of the land there is as old as any part of Jerusalem can be. Historic j^roof can be offered that this wide chasm was fashioned by the engineers of King Hezekiah himself long and long before Jesus Christ was born. The conformation of that " skull shape " must have existed just so for ages. All scholars are agreed that the rock, cut through at that time for the path, is the original base of the wall. So lofty are the parapets in this direction that besiegers never have ventured an attack on the northern side. The structures, therefore, are almost unbroken. Wall and hill together form a perpendicular face seventy or eighty feet high. Hence armies, in all the fitful for- tunes of Jerusalem, have chosen easier places for undertaking breaches of entrance. And the cliff directly facing the wall, with its rounded cranium and its black sockets, sug- gesting a skull now so plainly, has been there in all the years to make the same suggestion. Third. The hill is noticeably skull shaped, so that in popular habit it may have been called by the name. It is well enough to say just at this point that the revisers of the New Testa- ment have done, of their own accord, what Mr. Howe used often to tell me ought to have been done before. They have changed the Latin designation for the proper English in the gospel of Luke (xxiii. ;^2>) • " ^^^ when they came unto the place which is called The Skull, there they crucified him." So in Mat- thew's story (xxvii. 2)2)) ' "And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha," the article is changed to definite instead of indefinite — " the place called Golgotha." It was a known spot, — " in the place was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulcher," — as if close by and familiar. I choose to touch this point with a single illustration. We are all acquainted with these curious freaks of nature that after long ages become landmarks just because of their sin- gularity. Who will ever forget the " Profile " in the White Mountains ? One has to go to the exact spot, however, in order to see it, or it will evade his observation in every case, and he will have to join the innumerable throng of incredulous tourists who insist that there is no semblance of a face in the cliff, or anywhere else outside of the imagination of some young people. The portrait of the "White Horse" across the Saco River in front of the fine In- tervale House in North Conway affords another example. It is visible and intelligible to every- body; and yet it has to be looked for and looked at when the sunlight strikes it at a particular angle. For unreckoned years these two landmarks have been there in the rocks, and they will stay there until doomsday, for all we know. Because they are so odd, popular imagination takes them up, and makes use of them forever. There is nothmg more certain and unalterable than the " Pulpit," or the " Cathedral," or the " Old Man of the Moun- tain," to fix a site and a name. So Mr. How^e used to consider this shape of a kranion., there in an elevated conspicu- ousness beside the Damascus gate, one of his strongest arguments for the spot he preferred. I might perhaps add that the only way to catch the whole eftect is to choose a position of some reach of distance away to the south- east. Afterward, on another walk, with the rest of our company to give further witness, we found that the observation was more success- ful from near the point where our Lord looked down upon Jerusalem when he wept over the prospect of its destruction. There are three roads that appear on the map as leading across the summit of the Mount of Olives : the south- ern one goes around rather than over the ridge, taking a sharp bend almost like a right-angle : it is just there that the full view of Jerusalem bursts most gloriously on the sight. We thought the appearance of the skull shape was more distinct at this point than even at the belfry of the Church of the Ascension. Now it is freely admitted by everybody that there is no documentary or historic proof that this place bore such a name at the time when Jesus was crucified. But some place there was close by and just outside of Jerusalem which did bear that name then. Where was it? Our Sunday-school teachers are all told in the popu- lar commentaries to answer the children, when they ask why the spot where Jesus was cruci- fied was called Go/gof/ia, that it was either because the place was shaped like a skull, or because — being the ordinary place of exe- cution or burial of criminals — skulls might be discovered there. Both of these may have been true; and both of these are true of this knoll of the Damascus gate, so far as the shape and graves are concerned. Fourth. This place must have been nigh to one of the leading thoroughfares of Jerusalem. The passers-by " railed on him." These per- sons, in all likelihood, were the ordinary- traftic- people, or the villagers coming in and out, or io6 WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? JERUSALEM t ROM MOUNT CALVARY. the sojourners who were in the suburbs in tents or booths, having journeyed up to the feast. The northern road, reaching out over the country towards Shechem, Tyre, Damascus, was one of the oldest and most fixed in Pales- tine. The Damascus gate was named after it. Fifth. The site of the crucifixion must have been very conspicuous. " And the people stood beholding." Some of these were females, to whom it would have been perilous to force their way through the crowds of soldiers and coarse creatures present at crucifixions. Possi- bly an anxious few of such as had been helped and healed by the Lord were desiring to keep watch of the sad spectacle : " There were also women looking on afar off. " There is an ex- cellent diorama now upon exhibition in New York showing, in the modern form of half- picture and half-figure, the crucifixion scene; and the most striking feature of the represen- tation, so far as the populace is concerned, is the crowd upon the long reach of wall, gazing off at those crosses on the knoll. The unusually elevated portion of the fortifications at the Damascus gate affords an outlook to be found nowhere else in the city. Indeed, this spot satisfies all the needs of the sacred narrative. It is a high, conspicuous place, at no very great distance from the governor's house. The way to it would be along the streets of the city, where the crowds would be met, the daugh- ters of Jerusalem thronging Jesus as he passed. It is situated precisely where he, sinking under his cross, would most need help. The hill in front of the Damascus gate is so steep that the path winds in order to get up to the top of the knoll ; and there is where the countryman, Simon the Cyrenean, would be caught, just as he was entering, and forced to aid in carrying the cross up the slope. Sixth. The place of crucifixion must have been nigh to gardens and sepulchers. Sir J. William Dawson says he visited the vicinity in the company of Dr. Selah Merrill, and found that to this day small gardens occupy the level ground at the foot of the skull-shaped knoll, and upon the borders of such gardens are tombs. This same writer, in common with others, dwells forcibly upon the fact that, when Jesus was raised, two angels appeared standing at the head and foot of the sepulcher, so as to be visible to those who came to the place; moreover, the door of the opening was low, so that one had to stoop to look into it, and the great stone which kept the mouth closed was rolled along in grooves to fall into its posi- tion. Such structures, it is claimed, are not to be found anywhere else in the suburbs of Je- rusalem; but some have been in later times found on that hill beside the Damascus gate. The customary manner of building the places of interment was to fashion a series of long, narrow receptacles, not dissimilar to our own way in vaults of cemeteries — chambers into which the bodies were slid with the head far back in' utter darkness, and only the feet seen when the door was opened. Much importance is attached to this statement ; and it is gener- ally accepted as quite true as a matter of fact by those who know best. With this rehearsal it is well enough to leave the argument just where Mr. Fisher Howe left it. One characteristic of his unpretending volume will be noticeable upon each page of it — the author was devoted to his task, and emboldened by his enthusiasm to deliver a lit- tle book in its behalf; but he was personally difiident, and almost painfully a modest man in literature. He tried his hardest, from the beginning to the end of the volume, to commit somebody or anybody responsibly to an in- dorsement of his conviction. He never wished to make a sensation in such a matter; what he desired was that people should give up the former absurdities as to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and accept this sane and sensible WHERE WAS ''THE PLACE CALLED CALVARY''? 107 conclusion that Jesus Christ was crucified on that elevated spot beside the Damascus gate. If only he could have forced words out of old Dr. Edward Robinson's tomes declaring the truth of what the heart of hearts within him believed, he would have given over the matter gladly to him. This will explain some crude allusions to authors and public men of repute that ap- pear among his quotations. Dr. Selah Merrill has published this little paragraph in an excel- lent article : As regards the question, Who first suggested the hill above Jeremiah's Grotto as the probable site of the crucifixion ? it may be that this honor belongs to an American who was distinguished in quite another de- partment than that of biblical geography, namely, to the eminent Rev. Rufus Anderson, D. D., who, when walking out of the Damascus gate, in the year 1845, in company with his friend Dr. Eli Smith, pointed to this hill, and spoke of it to his companion as in his judg- ment the site of the true Calvary. It would be a matter of interest to know how he became acquainted with such a fact. All the authority that is in existence, I think, is in Mr. Fisher Howe's volume. The refer- ence is so peculiar that one grows interested to know the whole of it. Mr. Howe wrote to Dr. Rufus Anderson, as he wrote to me, and to many others, doubtless, seeking an under- standing with them, sympathy and information; communicating recklessly and exhaustively everything he knew, and asking for some pleasant interchange. And I knew him well enough to be sure, now as I write these words, that he told his correspondents tenfold more than he ever got back. I have an affectionate appreciation of the delight he felt when he had put this brilliant testimonial and corrob- oration into type on his final page, and linked together two names he so truly honored. But I say unhesitatingly that Dr. Anderson knew what he was then writing when he said, " I thank you iox your syggestions with regard to the true Calvary." Mr. Howe had been writing and studying for enthusiastic years before he received the knowledge of Dr. Ander- son's tentative remark to Dr. Smith ; he did not know that any one had ever spoken even casually about such a thing ; and he was glad to have it published that so great a man had made the remark to another man so great. I end this notice of a very valuable small book, and this affectionate reminiscence of a beloved friend, by saying in all simplicity that,, since Dr. Anderson died without the sign^ and Dr. Eli Smith died without the sign, and Mr. Fisher Howe, having made the best sign he could, then died [niilli flebilior qiiam mi/ii), I sometimes have had a wish that before he died he might have known a little of the grateful gladness with which the world is now mentioning his name as the one who first gave out the orderly argument to establish what good men now believe is " The True Site of Calvary." Charles S. Robinson. THE DAMASCUS GATE. PICTURES OF THE FAR WEST I. LOOKING FOR CAMP. I N that portion of the arid belt which Hes within the borders of Idaho between the rich irrigated valleys and the mining-camps of the mountains there is a region whereon those who occupy it have never labored — the beautiful " hill-coun- try," the lap of the mountain-ranges, the free pastures of the plains. Here, without help of hands, are sown and harvested the standing crops of wild grass which constitute the wealth of the cattle-men in the valleys. Of all the monotonous phases of the West- ern landscape these high, solitary pastures are the most poetic. Nothing human is suggested by the plains except processions of tired people passing over, tribal movements, war-parties, discoverers, and fortune-seekers. But the sen- timent of the hills is restful. Their stillness is not hfeless; it is as if these warm-bosomed slopes were listening, like a mother to her child's breathing, for sounds from all the shy, wild communities which they feed and shelter — the slow tread of grazing herds, the call of a bird, the rustle of the stiff grass on the hill- slopes, the lapsing trickle of water in gulches hidden by willows, and traced by their winding green from far off a^cross the dry slopes. All the life of the hills tends downwards at night; the cattle, which always graze upwards, go down to the gulches to drink ; the hunter makes his camp there when darkness over- takes him. He may travel late over the hills in the twilight, prolonged and colored by the sun- set. There is seldom a cloud to vary the slow, deep gradation where the sun has gone down and the dusty valley still smolders in orange and crimson, with a cold substratum of pale blue mist above the river channel. Through a break in the line of the hills, or from a steep rise, one can track the sun from setting to set- ting till he is gone at last, and the flaming sky colors the opposite hilltops so that they glow even after the rising moon casts shadows. At this hour the stillness is so intense that the faint- est breeze can be heard, creeping along the hill- slopes and stirring the dry, reed-like grasses with a sound like that of a muted string. * * * EVENING AMONG THE FOOT-HILLS. SING of the valley and plain that toil has made fertile and green, Sing of the worshipful mountains where heavenly presences lean, But slight not the friendly low hills that offer glad service between. Their raiment is tufted wild grass, warm-colored like harvest-time wheat, — All golden, in summer content, they wait at the mountains' feet. Yielding the hospice where rover from highland and valley may meet. Here is the fold that gathers at evening the far-ranging herd ; Drinketh the deer, where faintly the mirror-like water is stirred , Where rustles the blade or the branch, there stoopeth the flight of the bird. The willows have taken the wood-dove and lark to watch and to ward ; The partridge is safe, nestled down in the warm, dry, moon-silvered sward That, moved by the soft night wind, wakes the sound of a muted chord. Follow thou too, O hunter ! tired of the sun and the height ; Follow, and choose thine own of these chambers open to-night, Nor count thyself lonely, companioned by many a slumberer Hght. Come, tracing thy way by the flame that is loath to die out of the west ; Tether thy steed by the streamside — thy couch already is dressed; Sleep, with the friendly Ioav foot-hills around thee guarding thy rest. Edith M. Thomas. Vol. XXXVIL— i6. STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. BY GEORGE W. CABLE, Author of " The Grandissimes," " Bonaventure," etc. I. 1888. HOW I GOT THEM. RUE Stories are not often good art. The relations and experiences of real men and women rarely fall in such symmetrical order as to make an artistic whole. Until they have had such treatment as we give stone in the quarry or gems in the rough they sel- dom group themselves with that harmony of values and brilliant unity of interest that result when art comes in — not so much to transcend nature as to make nature transcend herself. Yet I have learned to believe that good stories happen oftener than once I thought they did. Within the last few years there have dropped into my hands by one accident or another a number of these natural crystals, whose charms, never the same in any two, are in each and all enough at least to Avarn off all tampering of the fictionist. Happily, more- over, without being necessary one to another, they yet have a coherent sequence, and follow one another like the days of a week. They are mine only by right of discovery. From various necessities of the case I am sometimes the story-teller, and sometimes, in the reader's interest, have to abridge; but I add no fact aad trim naught of value away. Here are no " restorations," not one. In time, place, circum- stance, in every essential feature, I give them as I got them — strange stories that truly hap- pened, all partly, some wholly, in Louisiana. In the spring of 1883, being one night the guest of my friend Dr. Francis Bacon, in New Haven, Connecticut, and the conversation turning, at the close of the evening, upon wonderful and romantic true happenings, he said : "You are from New Orleans; did you never hear of Salome Miiller ? " " No." Thereupon he told the story, and a few weeks later sent me by mail, to my home in New Orleans, whither I had returned, a tran- scription, which he had most generously made, of a brief summary of the case — it would be right to say tragedy instead of case — as printed in " The Law Reporter " some forty years ago. That transcription Hes before me now, begin-> ning, " The Supreme Court of the State of Louisiana has lately been called upon to in- vestigate and decide one of the most interest- ing cases which has ever come under the cognizance of a judicial tribunal." This epi- sode, which had been the cause of public ex- citement within the memory of men still living on the scene, a native resident of New Orleans and student of its history stumbled upon for the first time nearly two thousand miles from home. I mentioned it to a number of lawyers of New Orleans, one after another. None re- membered ever having heard of it. I appealed to a former chief-justice of the State, who had a lively personal remembrance of every member of the bench and the bar concerned in the case ; but of the case he had no recollection. One of .the medical experts called in by the court for evidence upon which the whole merits 6f the case seemed to hang was still living — the distinguished Creole physician Dr. Armand Mercier. He could not recall the matter until I recounted the story, and then only in the vaguest way. Yet when my friend the for- mer chief-justice kindly took down from his shelves and beat free of dust the right volume of supreme court decisions, there was the terse, cold record, No. 5623. I went to the old newspaper files under the roof of the city hall and had the pleasure speedily to find, under the dates of 1818 and 1844, such pass- ing allusions to the strange facts of which I was in search as one might hope to find in those days when a serious riot was likely to receive no mention, and a steamboat explosion dangerously near the editorial rooms would be recorded in ten lines of colorless statement. I went to the courts, and after following and abandoning several false trails through two days' search, found that the books of record containing the object of my quest had been lost, having unaccountably disappeared in- — if I remember aright — 1870. There was one chance left ; it was to find the original papers. I employed an intelHgent gentleman at so much a day to search till he should find them. In the dusty garret of one of the court buildings — the old Spanish Ca- STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. Ill bildo that faces Jackson Square — he rum- maged for ten days, finding now one desired document and now another, until he had gathered all but one. Several he drew out of a great heap of papers lying in the middle of the floor, as if it were a pile of rubbish ; but this one he never found. Yet I was content. Through the perseverance of this gentleman and the intervention of a friend in the legal profession, and by the courtesy of the court, I held in my hand the whole forgotten story of the poor lost and found Salome Miiller. How through the courtesy of some of the re- portorial staff of the " New Orleans Picayune" I found and conversed Avith three of Salome's still surviving relatives and friends, I shall not stop to tell. While I was still in search of these things the editor of the " New Orleans Times- Democrat" handed me a thick manuscript, asking me to ex- amine and pronounce upon its merits. It was written wholly in French, in a small, cramped, feminine hand. I replied, when I could, that it seemed to me unfit for the purposes of tran- sient newspaper publication, yet if he declined it I should probably buy it myself. He replied that he had already examined it and decided to decline it, and it was only to know whether I, not he, could use it that I had been asked to read it. I took it to an attorney, and requested him, under certain strict conditions, to obtain it for me with all its rights. " What is it ? " " It is the minute account, written by one of the travelers, a pretty little Creole maiden of seventeen, of an adventurous journey made in 1795 from New Orleans through the wilds of Louisiana, taking six weeks to complete a tour that could now be made in less than two days." " But this is written by some one else ; see, it says, ' Voyage de ma Grand'mere.' " " Yes, it purports to be a copy. We must have the little grandmother's original manu- script, written in 1822; that or nothing." So a correspondence sprang up with a gentle and refined old Creole lady with whom I later had the honor to become acquainted and now count among my esteemed friends — grand- daughter of the grandmother who, after in- numerable recountings by word of mouth to mother, sisters, brothers, friends, husband, chil- dren, and children's children through twenty- seven years of advancing life, sat down at last and wrote the ofttold tale for her little grand- children, one of whom, inheriting her literary instinct and herself become an aged grand- mother, discovers the manuscript among some old family papers and recognizes its value. The first exchange of letters disclosed the fact that the "New Orleans Bee" (" L'Abeille ") had bought the right to publish the manuscript in French ; but the moment its editors had proper assurance that there was impending another ar- rangement more profitable to her, they chival- rously yielded all they had bought, on merely being reimbursed. The condition that required the delivery of the original manuscript, written over sixty years before, was not so easily met. First came the assurance that its spelling was hideous, its writing bad and dimmed by time, and the sheets tattered and torn. Later followed the disclosure that an aged and infirm mother of the grandmother owned it, and that she had some time before compelled its return to the private drawer from which the relic-loving daughter had abstracted it. Still later came a letter saying that since the attorney was so relentlessly exacting, she had written to her mother praying her to part with the manu- script. Then followed another communica- tion,— six large, closely written pages of despair, — inclosing a letter from the mother. The wad of papers, always more and more in the way and always " smelling bad," had been put into the fire. But a telegram followed on the heels of the mail, crying joy ! An old letter had been found and forwarded which would prove that such a manuscript had existed. But it was not in time to intercept the attorney's letter saying that, the original manuscript being destroyed, there could be no purchase or any need of fur- ther correspondence. The old letter came. It was genuine beyond a doubt, had been written by one of the party making the journey, and was itself forty-seven years old. The paper was poor and sallow, and the orthography ! — " Ma bien chair niaice je ressoit ta lette ce mattin," etc. But let us translate : St. John baptist^ 10 august 1836 My very dear Niece. I received your letter this morning in which you ask me to tell you what I remember of the journey to Attakapas made in 1795 by papa, M. , [and] my younger sister Frangoise afterward your grand- mother. If it were with my tongue I could answer more favorably ; but writing is not my forte; I was never calculated for a pubhc writer, as your grandmother was. By the way, she wrote the journey, and very prettily ; what have you done with it ? It is a pity to lose so pretty a piece of writing. . . . We left New Orleans to go to the Attakapas in the month of May, 1795, and in an old barge [" vieux cha- lant qui sente le rat mord a pHen nez "]. We were Frangoise and I Suzanne, pearl of the family, and Papa, who went to buy lands ; and 1 Name of the parish, or county. 112 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. one Joseph Charpentier and his dear and pretty little wife Alix [whom] I love so much; 3 Irish, father mother and son [fice] ; lastly Mario, whom you knew, with Celeste, formerly lady's maid to Marianne — who is now my sister-in-law. . . . If I knew better how to write I would tell you our adventures the alligators tried to devour us. We barely escaped perishing in Lake Chicot and many other things. . . . At last we arrived at a pretty village St. Mar- tinville called also little Paris and full of bar- ons, marquises, counts and countesses ^ that were an offense to my nose and my stomach, your grandmother was in raptures, it was there we met the beautiful Tonton, your aunt by marriage. I have a bad finger and must stop. . . . Your loving aunty [ta tantine qui temme] Suzanne nee The kind of letter to expect from one who as a girl of eighteen could shoot and swim and was called by her father "my son"; the antipode of her sister Fran9oise. The attorney wrote that the evidence was sufficient. His letter had hardly got into the mail-bag when another telegram cried hold ! that a few pages of the original manuscript had been found and forwarded by post. They came. They were only nine in all — old, yellow, ragged, torn, leaves of a plantation account- book whose red-ruled columns had long ago faded to a faint brown, one side of two or three of them preoccupied with charges in bad French of yards of cottonade, " mouslin a dames," "jaconad," dozens of soap, pounds of tobacco, pairs of stockings, lace, etc. ; but to our great pleasure each page corresponding closely, save in orthography and syntax, with a page of the new manuscript, and the page numbers of the old running higher than those of the new ! Here was evidence which one could lay before a skeptical world that the transcriber had not expanded the work of the original memoirist. I'he manuscript passed into my possession, our Creole lady-corre- spondent reiterating to the end her inability to divine what could be wanted with " an almost illegible scrawl " (griffonage), full of bad spell- ing and of rather inelegant diction. But if old manuscript was the object of desire, why, here was something else ; the very document alluded to by Frangoise in her memoir of travel — the autobiography of the dear little countess, her beloved Alix de Morainville, made fatherless and a widow by the guillotine in the Reign of Terror. " Was that all ? " inquired my agent, craft- ily, his suspicions aroused by the promptness with which the supply met the demand. "Had she not other old and valuable manuscripts ? " 1 Royalist refugees of '93. " No, alas ! only that one." Thus reassured, he became its purchaser. It lies before me now, in an inner wrapper of queer old black paper, beside its little tight- fitting bag or case of a kind of bright, large- flowered silken stuff not made in these days, and its outer wrapper of old, discolored brief- paper ; a pretty little document of sixty-eight small pages in a refined feminine hand, perfect in its slightly archaic grammar, gracefully com- posed, and, in spite of its flimsy yellowed paper, as legible as print : " Histoire d'AHx de Morain- ville ecrite a la Louisiane ce 22 Aout 1795. Pour mes cheres amies, Suzanne et Fran9oise Bossier." One day I told the story to Professor Charles Eliot Norton of Harvard University. He generously offered to see if he could find the name of the Comte de Morainville on any of the lists of persons guillotined during the French Revolution. He made the search, but wrote, " I am sorry to say that I have not been able to find it either in Prudhomme, ' Diction- naire des Individues envoyes a la Mort judi- ciairement, 1 789-1 796,' or in the list given by Wallon in the sixth volume of his very inter- esting ' Histoire du Tribunal Revolutionnaire de Paris.' Possibly he was not put to death m Paris," etc. And later he kindly wrote again that he had made some hours' further search, but in vain. Here was distress. I turned to the little manuscript roll of which I had become so fond and searched its pages anew for evidence of either genuineness or its opposite. The wrapper of black paper and the close-fitting silken bag had not been sufficient to keep it from taking on the yellowness of age. It was at least no modern counterfeit. Presently I noticed the total absence of quotation marks from its passages of conversation. But at the close of the last century, as I understand, quotation marks were just beginning to come into use. Their entire absence from a manu- script of sixty-eight pages abounding in conver- sations meant either age or cunning pretense. But would the pretender carry his or her cun- ning to the extreme of fortifying the manuscript in every possible way against the sallowing touch of time, lay it away in a trunk of old papers, lie down and die without mentioning it, and leave it for some one in the second or third generation afterward to find ? I turned the leaves once more, and lo ! one leaf that had had a large corner torn off had lost that much of its text; it had been written upon before it was torn; while on the other torn leaf, for there are two, the writing reads — as you shall see — uninterruptedly around the torn edge; the writing has been done after the corner was torn off. The manuscript is STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 113 genuine. Maybe the name De Morainville is not, but was a convenient fiction of Alix her- self, well understood as such by Fran(;oise and Suzanne. Everything points that way, as was suggested at once by Madame Sidonie de la Houssaye — There ! I have let slip the name of my Creole friend, and can only pray her to forgive me! "Tout porte a le croire," she writes ; although she also doubts, with reason, I should say, the exhaustive completeness of those Hsts of the guillotined. " I recall," she writes in French, " that my husband has often told me the two uncles of his father, or grand- father, were guillotined in the Revolution ; but though search was made by an advocate, no trace of them was found in any records." But to come back to my own attorney. While his grave negotiations were still go- ing on, there met me one evening at my own gate a lady in black, seeking advice concern- ing her wish to sell to some publisher a private diary never intended for publication. " That kind is the best," I said. " Did you write it during the late war ? " I added at a guess. " Yes." " I suppose, then, it contains a careful record of each day's public events." " No, I 'm sorry to say — " " Nay, don't be sorry ; that lack may save it from the waste-basket." Then my heart spoke. " Ah ! madam, if you had only done what no woman seems to have seen the impor- tance of doing — written the women's side of that awful war — " " That 's just what I have done," she inter- rupted. " I was a Union woman, in the Con- federacy. I could n't talk ; I had to write. I was in the siege of Vicksburg from beginning to end." " Leave your manuscript with me," I said. " If, on examining it, I find I can recommend it to a publisher, I will do so. But remember what I have already told you — the passage of an unknown writer's work through an older author's hands is of no benefit to it whatever. It is a bad sign rather than a good one. Your chances of acceptance will be at least no less if you send this to the publishers yourself." No, she would like me to intervene. How my attorney friend and I took a two- days' journey by rail, reading the manuscript to each other in the Pullman car; how a young newly married couple next us across the aisle, pretending not to notice, listened with all their might ; how my friend the attorney now and then stopped to choke down tears ; and how the young stranger opposite came at last, with apologies, asking where this matter would be published and under what tide, I need not tell. At length I was intercessor for a manuscript that publishers would not likely decline. I bought it for my little museum of true stories, at a price beyond what I believe any magazine would have paid — an amount that must have filled the widow's heart with joy, but as cer- tainly was not beyond its worth to me. I have already contributed a part of this manuscript to The Century as one of its "War papers."^ Judge Farrar, with whom I enjoyed a sHght but valued acquaintance, stopped me one day in Carondelet street. New Orleans, saying, " I have a true story that I want you to tell. You can dress it out — " I arrested him with a shake of the head. " Dress me no dresses. Story me no stories. There 's not one of a hundred of them that does not lack something essential, for want of which they are good for naught. Keep them for after-dinner chat ; but for the novelist they are good to smell, not to eat. And yet — tell me your story. I have a use for it — a cabinet of true things that have never had and shall not have a literary tool lifted up against them ; vir- gin shells from the beach of the sea of human events. It may be I shall find a place for it there." So he told me the true story which I have called " Attalie Brouillard," because, having forgotten the woman's real name, it pleased his fancy to use that name in recount- ing the tale : " Attalie Brouillard." I repeated the story to a friend, a gentleman of much reading. His reply dismayed me. " I have a faint impression," he said, "that you will find some- thing very much like that in one of Lever's novels." But later I thought, " Even so, what then ? Good stories repeat themselves." I remem- bered having twice had experiences in my own life the accounts of which, when given, would have been great successes only that they were old anecdotes — great in their day, but long worn out in the club-rooms and abandoned to clergymen's reunions. The wise thing was not to find out or care whether Lever had somewhere told something like it, but whether the story was ever a real event in New Or- leans, and, if so, to add it to my now, to me, priceless collection. Meeting the young judge again, I asked boldly for the story's full au- thentication. He said promptly that the man who told it of his own knowledge was the late Judge T. Wharton Collins; that the in- cidents occurred about 1855, and that Judge McCaleb could doubtless give the name of the notary public who had been an actor in the afiair. " Let us go to his office right now," said my obliging friend. 1 See The Century for September, 1885, p. 767. 114 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. We went, found him, told our errand. He remembered the story, was confident of its entire verity, and gave a name, which, how- ever, he begged I would submit for verifica- tion to an aged notary public in another street, a gentleman of the pure old Creole type. I went to him. He heard the story through in solemn silence. From first to last I mentioned no name, but at the end I asked : " Now, can you tell me the name of the notary in that case ? " " Yes." I felt a delicious tingling as I waited for the disclosure. He slowly said: "Dthere eeze wan troub' 'bout dat. To which case do you riffer? ^ Cause, you know, dey got t''7'ee, four case' like dat. An' you bet- ter not mention no name, 'cause you don't want git nobody in troub', you know. Now dthere 's dthe case of . And dthere 's dthe case of . And dthere 's dthe case of . He had to go away ; yes ; 'cause when he make dthe dade man make his will, he git behiue dthe dade man in bade, an' hole 'im up in dthe bade." I thanked him and departed, with but the one regret that the tale was true so many more times than was necessary. In- all this collection the story of the so- called haunted house in Royal street is the only one that must ask a place in literature as partly a twice-told tale. The history of the house is known to thousands in the old French quar- ter, and that portion which antedates the late war was told in brief by Harriet Martineau as far back as when she wrote her book of American travel. In printing it here I fulfill an oft repeated promise ; for many a one has asked me if I would not, or, at least, why I did not, tell its dark story. So I have inventoried my entire exhibit — save one small matter. It turned out after all that the dear old Creole lady who had sold us the ancient manuscript, finding old paper commanding so much more per ton than it ever had commanded before, raked together three or four more leaves — stray chips of her lovely little ancestress Frangoise's workshop, or rather the shakings of her basket of cher- ished records, — to wit, three Creole African songs, which I have used elsewhere; one or two other scraps, of no value ; and, finally, a long letter telling its writer's own short story — a story so tragic and so sad that I can only say pass it, if you will. It stands first because it antedates the rest. As you will see, its time is something more than a hundred years ago. The writing was very difficult to read, owing entirely to the badness — mainly the softness — of the paper. I have tried in vain to find exactly where Fort Latourette was situated. All along the Gulf shore the sites and remains of the small forts once held by the Spaniards are known traditionally and indis- criminately as " Spanish Fort." When John Law, author of that famed Mississippi Bub- ble,— which was in Paris what the South Sea Bubble was in London, — failed in his efi"orts at colonization on the Arkansas, his Arkansas settlers came down the Mississippi t© within some sixty miles of New Orleans and established themselves in a colony at first called the Cote Allemande (German Coast), and later, owing to its prosperity, the Cote dOr, or Golden Coast. Thus the banks of the Missis- sippi became known on the Rhine, a goodly part of our Louisiana Creoles received a Ger- man tincture, and the father and the aunt of Suzanne and Fran9oise were not the only Alsatians we shall meet in these wild stories of wild times in Louisiana. II. 1782. THE YOUNG AUNT WITH WHITE HAIR. THE date of this letter — I hold it in one hand as I write, and for the first time notice that it has never in its hundred years been sealed or folded, but only doubled once, lightly, and rolled in the hand, just as the young Span- ish officer might have carried it when he rode so hard to bear it to its destination — its date is the last year but one of our American Revo- lution. France, Spain, and the thirteen colonies were at war with Great Britain, and the Indi- ans were on both sides. Galvez, the heroic young governor of Louisi- ana, had just been decorated by his king and made a count for taking the forts at Manchac, Baton Rouge, Natchez, and Mobile, and besieg- ing and capturing the stronghold of Pensacola, thus winning all west Florida, from the Missis- sippi to the Appalachicola, for Spain. But this vast wilderness was not made safe ; Fort Pan- mure (Natchez) changed hands twice, and the land was full of Indians, partly hireling friends and partly enemies. The waters about the Bahamas and the Greater and Lesser Antilles were fields for the movements of hostile fleets, corsairs, and privateers. Yet the writer of this letter was tempted to run the gauntlet of these perils, expecting, if all went well, to arrive in Louisiana in midsummer. " How many times," says the memorandum of her brother's now aged great-granddaughter, — " How many times during my childhood has been told me the story of my aunt Louise. It was not until several years after the death of my grandmother that, on examining the con- tents of the basket which she had given me, I STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. 115 found at the bottom of a little black-silk bag the letter written by my grand-aunt to her brother, my own ancestor. Frankly, I doubt that my grandmother had intended to give it to me, so highly did she prize it, though it was very difficult to read. The orthography is per- fect ; the difficulty is all owing to the paper and, moreover, to the situation of the poor wounded sufferer." It is in French : To my brother mister Pierre Bossier. Ii the parish 1 of St. James. Fort Latourette, The 5 August, 1782. My Good Dear Brother : Ah ! how shall I tell you the frightful position in which I am placed ! I would that I were dead ! I seem to be the prey of a horrible nightmare ! O Pierre ! my brother ! hasten with ail speed to me. When you left Germany, your little sister was a blooming girl, very beautiful in your eyes, very happy ! and to-day ! ah ! to-day, my brother, come see for yourself After having received your letter, not only my husband and I decided to leave our vil- lage and go to join you, but twelve of our friends united with us, and the 10 May, 1782, we quitted Strasbourg on the little vessel North Star [Etoile du Nord],'-^ which set sail for New Orleans, where you had promised to come to meet us. Let me tell you the names of my fellow-travelers. O brother ! what courage I need to write this account : first my husband, Leonard Cheval, and my son Pierre, poor little angel who was not yet tv/o years old ! Fritz Newman, his wife Nina, and their three chil- dren; Irwin Vizey; William Hugo, his wife, and their little daughter; Jacques Lewis, his daugh- ter, and his son Henry. We were full of hope : we hoped to find fortune in this new country of which you spoke with so much enthusiasm. How in that moment did I bless my parents, and you my brother, for the education you had procured me. You know how good a mu- sician my Leonard was, and our intention was on arriving to open a boarding-school in New Orleans; in your last letter you encouraged the project — all of us, movables with us, all our savings, everything we owned in this world. This paper is very bad, brother, but the cap- tain of the fort says it is all he has ; and I write lying down, I am so uncomfortable. The earlier days of the voyage passed with- out accident, without disturbance, but often Leonard spoke to me of his fears. The vessel was old, small, and very poorly supplied. The captain was a drunkard [here the writer at- tempted to turn the sheet and write on the back of it], who often incapacitated himself with his first officers [word badly blotted] ; and then the management of the vessel fell to the mate, who was densely ignorant. Moreover, we knew that the seas were infested with pi- rates. I must stop, the paper is too bad. The captain has brought me another sheet. Our uneasiness was great. Often we emi- grants assembled on deck and told each other our anxieties. Living on the frontier of France, we spoke German and French equally well ; and when the sailors heard us, they, who spoke only English, swore at us, accused us of plot- ting against them, and called us Saurkrouts. At such times I pressed my child to my heart and drew nearer to Leonard, more dead than alive. A whole month passed in this constant anguish. At its close, fevers broke out among us, and we discovered, to our horror, there was not a drop of medicine on board. We had them lightly, some of us, but only a few ; and [bad blot] Newman's son and William Hugo's little daughter died, .... and the poor mother soon followed her child. My God ! but it was sad. And the provisions ran low, and the captain refused to turn back to get more. One evening, when the captain, his lieuten- ant, and two other officers w^ere shut in their cabin drinking, the mate, of whom I had al- ways such fear, presented himself before us surrounded by six sailors armed, like himself, to the teeth, and ordered us to surrender all the money we had. To resist would have been madness; we had to yield. They searched our trunks and took away all that we possessed: they left us nothing, absolutely nothing. Ah ! why am I not dead ? Profiting by the absence of their chiefs they seized the [or some — the word is blotted] boats and abandoned us to our fate. When, the next day, the captain ap- peared on deck quite sober, and saw the cruelty of our plight, he told us, to console us, that we were very near the mouth of the Mississippi, and that within two days we should be at New Orleans. Alas ! all that day passed without seeing any land,-^ but towards evening the ves- sel, after incredible eftbrts, had just come to a stop — at what I supposed should be the mouth of the river. We were so happy to have arrived that we begged Captain Andrieux to sail all night. He replied that our men, who had worked all day in place of the sailors, were tired and did not understand at all sufficiently the handling of a vessel to sail by night. He wanted to get drunk again. As in fact our men were worn out, we went, all of us, to bed. O great God ! give me strength to go on. All at 1 County. " If this was an English ship, — for her crew was Englisli and her master's name seems to have been Andrews, — she was probably not under British colors. 3 The treeless marshes of the Delta would be very slow coming into view. ii6 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. once we were wakened by horrible cries, not human sounds : we thought ourselves sur- rounded by ferocious beasts. We poor women clasped our children to our breasts, while our husbands armed themselves with whatever came to hand and dashed forward to meet the danger. My God ! my God ! we saw ourselves hemmed in by a multitude of savages yelling and lifting over us their horrible arms, grasping hatchets, knives, and tomahawks. The first to fall was my husband, my dear Leonard ; all, except Irwin Vizey, who had the fortune to jump into the water unseen, all were massacred by the monsters. One Indian tore my child from me while another fastened my arms be- hind my back. In response to my cries, to my prayers, the monster who held my son took him by one foot and, swinging him several times around, shattered his head against the wall. And I live to write these horrors ! .... I fainted, without doubt, for on opening my eyes I found I was on land [blot], firmly fastened to a stake. Nina Newman and Kate Lewis were fastened as I was : the latter was covered with blood and appeared to be dangerously wounded. About daylight three Indians came looking for them and took them God knows where ! Alas! I have never since heard of either of them or their children. I remained fastened to the stake in a state of delirium, which saved me doubtless from the horrors of my situation. I recall one thing : that is, having seen those savages eat human flesh, the members of a child — at least it seemed so. Ah ! you see plainly I must have been mad to have seen all that without dying ! They had stripped me of my clothing and I remained exposed, half naked, to a July sun and to clouds of mosquitoes. An Indian who spoke French informed me that, as I was young and fat, they were reserving me for the dinner of the chief, who was to arrive next day. In a moment I was dead with terror; in that instant I lost all feeling. I had become indif- ferent to all. I saw nothing, I heard nothing. Towards evening one of the sub-chiefs ap- proached and gave me some water in a gourd. I drank Avithout knowing what I did ; there- upon he set himself to examine me as the butcher examines the lamb that he is about to kill; he seemed to find me worthy to be served on the table of the head-chief, but as he was hungry and did not wish to wait [blot], he drew from its sheath the knife that he car- ried at his belt and before I had had time to guess what he intended to do [Enough to say, in place of literal translation, that the savage, from the outside of her right thigh, flayed off a large piece of her flesh.] It must be sup- posed that I again lost consciousness. When I came to myself, I was lying some paces away from the stake of torture on a heap of cloaks, and a soldier was kneeling beside me, while I was surrounded by about a hundred others. The ground was strewed with dead Indians. I learned later that Vizey had reached the woods and by chance had stumbled into Fort Latourette, full of troops. Without loss of time, the brav,e soldiers set out, and arrived just in time to save me. A physician dressed my wound, they put me into an ambulance and brought me away to Fort Latourette, where I still am. A fierce fever took possession of me. My generous protectors did not know to whom to write; they watched over me and showed every care imaginable. Now that I am better, I write you, my brother, and close with these words : I await you ! Make all haste ! Your sister, Louisa Cheval. " My grandmother," resumes the memoran- dum of the Creole great-grandniece, " had often read this letter, and had recounted to me the incidents that followed its reception. She was then but three years old, but as her aunt lived three years in her (/. ont Royal with 10,000 troops, following up and supporting, as I understand, the force now pur- suing Banks. Also that another force of 10,000 is near Orleans, following on in the same direction. [In this Geary was mistaken. Jackson's and Ewell's forces amounted to about 16,000.] Stripped bare, as we are here, I will do all we can to prevent them crossing the Potomac at Harper's Ferry or above. McDowell has about 20,000 of his forces moving back to the vi- cinity of Front Royal, and Fremont, who was at Frank- lin, is moving to Harrisonburg ; both these movements intended to get in the enemy's rear. One more of McDowell's brigades is ordered through here to Harper's Ferry ; the rest of his force remain for the present at Fredericksburg. We are sending such regiments and dribs from here and Baltimore as we can spare to Harper's Ferry, supplying their places in some sort by calling in militia from the adjacent States. We also have eighteen cannon on the road to Harper's Ferry, of which arm there is not a single one at that point. This is now our situation. If McDowell's force was now beyond our reach, we should be entirely helpless. Apprehensions of some- thing like this, and no unwillingness to sustain you, have always been my reason for withholding McDow- ell's forces from you. Please understand this, and do the best you can with the forces you have.l Later in the day, the President, now sure that a large and formidable army was draw- ing near the Potomac, wrote a sharp dispatch to McClellan urging him either to take this opportunity " to attack Richmond, or give up the job"; to which the general, who was never disturbed by the presence of the enemy any- where out of his sight, replied calmly that " the object of the movement was probably to prevent reenforcements being sent him," and that the time was very near when he would attack Richmond. The campaign, opened thus inauspiciously for the Union arms, went rapidly from bad to worse. A series of doleful mischances suc- ceeded, unrelieved by a ray of good fortune or good conduct. Mr. Lincoln, at Washington, was exerting himself to the utmost, sending a dozen dispatches a day to Banks, Fremont, McDowell, and McClellan — all admirable in clearness, intelligence, and temper, always di- recting the right thing to be done and the best way of doing it ; but nothing seemed to avail. The original surprise was inexcusable. On the 20th of May,i Fremont had reported to Banks that Jackson was on the way to attack him, but no proper preparation was made. After the defeat at Front Royal on the 23d, and at Winchester on the 25th, while Banks was in retreat to the Potomac, the only thought of the President was to stop Jackson at the river, and to detain him until a sufficient force could be gathered in the neighborhood of Strasburg to destroy or capture him on his re- turn. Fremont was ordered to cross the moun- tains to Harrisonburg and come north down the valley with his force. McDowell, with a competent detachment under Shields, was ordered to Front Royal ; a considerable army met the victorious forces of Jackson at the Potomac. These last were mostly of raw lev- 1 War Records. 132 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. ies, not inured to marching or to fighting ; but they accompHshed their purpose of delaying for the moment the advance of Jackson towards Washington. His own intention, as well as his orders from Richmond, were, in the language of General Dabney,^ " to press the enemy at Har- per's Ferry, threaten an invasion of Maryland, and an assault upon the Federal capital." But on the 29th, while at Halltown,- preparing for an attack upon Harper's Ferry, he received information of the movement of troops that had been ordered by the President, which, as Dabney says, " imperiously required him to give up that attack and provide for his own safety." He then began his precipitate retreat up the valley, which by its celerity and success gained him even more credit than did his auda- cious advance. It ought not to have been allowed to suc- ceed ; it was perfectly feasible to prevent it. Had the plain orders of the President been obeyed, Jackson could not have escaped from the predicament where his headlong energy and his contempt for his adversaries had placed him. It is idle to talk of his invincibility; he was generally whipped, like other men, when the conditions were not favorable to him. He was defeated severely at Kernstown in March, when he had been confident of victory ; later, at Gaines's Mills, he did not particularly dis- tinguish himself above others; Banks, with one- third his force, gave him all the work he could do at Cedar Mountain; while at Malvern Hill and White Oak Swamp his inefficiency in large tactics was recognized and severely crit- icized by generals on his own side. If Fremont and McDowell had met him at Strasburg, and Banks had followed upon his heels, as Mr. Lincoln had clearly and explicitly ordered, nothing could have prevented the capture or destruction of his entire command. Each of these generals had his task assigned him ; it was in each case perfectly practicable. It in- volved only an expeditious march to the neigh- borhood of Strasburg, over roads more or less rough, undisturbed by the presence of an enemy in any considerable force. General McDowell's part of the work was performed with his habitual energy and promptitude, notwithstanding the chagrin and displeasure with which he received his orders. On the evening of the 24th of May ^ the Presi- dent sent him a dispatch informing him that Fremont had been ordered by telegraph to m.ove from Franklin on Harrisonburg, to re- lieve Banks, and to capture or destroy Jack- son's or Ewell's forces. Mr. Lincoln continues : You are instructed, laying aside for the present the movement on Richmond, to put 20,000 men in motion at once for the Shenandoah, moving on the line, or in 1 Dabney, p. 386. 2 Ibid., p. 387. advance of the line, of the Manassas Gap Railroad. Your object will be to capture the forces of Jackson and Ewell, either in cooperation with General Fre- mont, or, in case want of supplies or of transporta- tion interferes with his movements, it is believed that the force with which you move will be sufficient to accomplish this object alone. The information thus far received here makes it probable that if the enemy operate actively against General Banks you will not be able to count upon much assistance from him, but may even have to release him. It is remarkable that the President saw the situation with such accuracy the day before Banks's defeat at Winchester. This order McDowell, though he called it " a crushing blow," ^ obeyed at once, directing Shields to take up his march to Catlett's, a . station on the Orange and Alexandria road, about half-way betwee;n Fredericksburg and Front Royal, and reporting that he had done so. The President sent him an acknowledg- ment of his alacrity, at the same time express- ing his regret at the change of his orders, and adding, " Everything now depends upon the celerity and vigor of your movements."^ This encouraged the general to make an earnest though respectful protest, which he sent the same night to the President, setting forth his belief that cooperation between himself and Fremont was not to be counted upon; that it would take him a week or ten days to get to the valley; that by that time the enemy Avould have retired. We shall see later that these forebodings at least were not realized. At the same time he telegraphed to Wads- worth, in command at Washington, his deep disgust ; he did not think the rebel force in the mountains amounted to five thousand men. But with all this grumbling his deeds were better than his words ; he pushed Shields for- ward with the greatest celerity. Shields, who was burning to go to Richmond, marched obediently, but in very bad humor. The dis- patches of this officer read like a burlesque of those of his superior. He is loud in contempt of both armies in the Shenandoah. He thought when the movement first began that there was nothing in it; that the enemy would never come north ; that if they did, they would be hemmed in and destroyed. As late as the i oth of May he was sure " they were not there to fight." ^ As he went forward to Front Royal his boasting spirit asserted itself more and more. " I want no assistance," he said. He promised to " give Jackson a bloody reception," to " drive the enemy from the Shenandoah," and wanted ' to know if there was anything else he could do for the President — the task in question being unworthy of his powers.^ But neither the chagrin of McDowell nor the gasconading of Shields prevented them 3 War Records. 4 May 26 and 27. JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPAIGN. ^ZZ from striving with all their might to do the work assigned them. The President kept Mc- Dowell constantly informed of the condition of affairs, detailing the progress of Jackson north- ward, and urging the value and importance of the service expected of the Union troops. Mc- Dowell showed himself, as he always was, worthy of the confidence reposed in him. In spite of all obstacles, — accidents by rail, bad roads, and rough weather,— he got Shields's ad- vance into Front Royal on the 30th of May; that is, in little more than half the time he thought he should require for the purpose. The same day the President sent him a dis- patch from Fremont saying that he would be at Strasburg, or where the enemy was, at 4 p. M., May 31; and another from Saxton at Harper's Ferry, indicating that the enemy was still there. The President added, with jus- tifiable exultation, " It seems the game is be- fore you." It remains to be seen how General Fremont executed his share of the task. On the 24th the President gave him an urgent order to move at once, by way of Harrisonburg, to the relief of Banks. He promptly replied that he "would move as ordered"; but made the un- fortunate error of choosing an entirely differ- ent route from the one assigned him.i Think- ing the road to Harrisonburg was more or less obstructed, and off his line of supplies, he moved northward by way of Petersburg and Moorefield, in the great valley lying west of the Shenandoah Mountains, and did not even inform the President of this discretionary modi- . fication of his orders, so that, on the 27 th, when they were anxiously expecting at Wash- ington to hear from him at Harrisonburg, they were astounded at receiving tidings from him at Moorefield, two good days' march from the line of Jackson's retreat, and separated by two counties and the Shenandoah range from the place where he was desired and expected to be. In response to the President's peremp- tory question why he was at Moorefield when he was ordered to Harrisonburg, he made an unsatisfactory reply, alleging the necessity of his choice of route, and his assumed discretion as to his orders. Dropping this matter, the President began again urging him forward to Strasburg. There was still time to repair the original error. Jackson was on the Potomac, much farther from the rendezvous than Fre- mont. But the latter could not be made to see the vital necessity of immediate action — his men were weary, his supplies were deficient, the roads were bad; Blenker's corps was straggling badly. Finally, on the 29th, his medical direc- tor told him his army needed a whole day's rest. 1 War Records. '^ Swinton, *' Army of the Potomac." He promptly accepted this suggestion, and wasted twenty-four hours in this manner, while Jackson was rushing his ragged troops, who had known no rest for a month, up the nar- row valley that formed his only outlet from destruction or captivity. In one day, says Ma- jor Dabney, the Stonewall Brigade marched " from Halltown to the neighborhood of New- ton, a distance of thirty-five miles; and the 2d Virginia accomplished a march of forty miles without rations, over muddy roads and amidst continual showers." The race was to the swift. As Fremont's advance entered Stras- burg on the ist of June' the rear-guard of Jackson's force was still in sight, leaving the place. The plan of the President, well com- bined and reasonable as it was, had failed through no fault of his, and Jackson had es- caped. It is the contention of General Mc- Clellan and his partisans that the plan could not possibly have succeeded. One critic ^ disposes of the matter by a sneer at the thought of " trapping that wily fox, who knew every gorge and pass of the mountain." But an army of 16,000 men of all arms is not a fox; it must have roads to cross mountains, and bridges to pass over rivers. If Fremont had obeyed orders and had been where he should have been on the 30th of May, and if Banks and Saxton had kept a closer watch at Harper's Ferry and fol- lowed more immediately upon Jackson's rear, Jackson would have been surrounded at Stras- burg by three times his own force, and would have been captured or his army dispersed and destroyed. This would have been richly worth all its cost, and the most captious or malev- olent critic would have had nothing to say against the President who ordered it. There was httle prospect of defeating Jack- son after he had slipped through the gap be- tween Fremont and McDowell at Strasburg; but nevertheless an energetic pursuit was begun by Fremont up the Shenandoah and by part of Shields's division up the Luray Valley on the east, the former harassing Jackson's rear with almost daily skirmishes, and the latter running a race with him on a parallel line. There was hardly a possibility now of regaining the lost op- portunity. No matter how severely pressed, it was almost surely in Jackson's power to escape across Brown's Gap to Albemarle County, where he would for a time be safe from pur- suit; and this course, says Major Dabney, was in his mind as a final resort.^ But he was not even driven to this. There was one last chance of inflicting great damage upon him. One of Shields's brigades arrived at the bridge at Port Republic before him, and either should have taken and held or destroyed it.-^ The officer in 3 Dabney, p. 404. 4 War Records. 134 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. command did neither, and the bridge imme- diately after fell into Jackson's hands, giving him command of both sides of the river. The Confederate general and his adjutant and biog- rapher ascribed the capture of this important position to supernatural means. ^ As soon as Jackson uttered his command [to seize the bridge] he drew up his horse, and, dropping the reins upon his neck, raised both his hands towards the heavens, while the fire of battle in his face changed into a look of reverential awe. Even while he prayed, the God of battles heard ; or ever he had withdrawn his uplifted hands, the bridge was gained. It would perhaps be irreverent to add that the bridge was not defended. On the same day, June 8, he fought a sharp but indecisive battle with Fremont at Cross Keys, and retiring in the night, he attacked and defeated Shields's small detachment at Port Republic. The misman- agement of the Union generals had opposed to him on both days forces greatly inferior to his own. Before these battles were fought the President, seeing that further pursuit was use- less, had ordered Shields back to McDowell, Fremont to halt at Harrisonburg for orders, and Banks to guard the posts of Port Royal and Luray. The orders came too late to pre- vent two unfortunate engagements, but they showed that the civilian at Washington was wiser than the two generals at the front. They both passed thereafter into the ranks of the malcontents — the men with grievances. Shields went back to Washington, where he was received with open arms by the habitual critics of the President. Among them were those of his own household ; for we read in Mr. Chase's diary that Shields told him, when he was ordered back, that " Jackson's capture was certain," and the general and the Secretary held harmoni- ous council together over the " terrible mis- takes " of the President.^ This was the last important service of Fremont. He remained in charge of his department a few weeks longer, until he was placed, with others of similar rank, under the general command of Pope. He refused to serve under his junior, and was relieved, not appearing again in any conspicuous position, except for a moment in the summer of 1864, as a candidate for the Presidency in opposition to Mr. Lincoln. THE SEVEN DAYS' BATTLES. After the battle of Fair Oaks, as well as be- fore it, General McClellan kept up his contin- ual cry for reenforcements. The hallucination that the enemy's force was double his own had become fixed upon him, and all his plans and 1 Dabney, p. 413. 2 Warden, " Life of Salmon P. Chase," pp. 444,445. 3 War Records. combinations were poisoned by this fatal error. The President did everything in his power to satisfy the, general's unreasonable demands. He resolved to give him absolute control of all the troops on the Peninsula ; and knowing that General Wool would never consent to be- ing placed under McClellan's orders, — that veteran having expressed himself with charac- teristic severity in regard to his junior's insati- able demand for troops,— the President thought best to remove General Wool to Baltimore, transferring General Dix to Fort Monroe and placing him under the direct command of McClellan — a proceeding which greatly dis- pleased General Dix, but to which he yielded under protest.^ His displeasure did not inter- fere with his convictions of duty. Immediately on arriving at Fort Monroe he sent to General McClellan a reenforcement of ten of the best regiments there.^ No'efforts were spared to help and to encourage McClellan ; both the Presi- dent and the Secretary of War were perpetually sending him kind and complimentary messages in addition to the troops and guns which they gathered in from every quarter for him. A few days after Fair Oaks, in response to his re- peated entreaties, McCall's division of McDow- ell's corps, a splendid body of about ten thou- sand men, was dispatched to him. He was for the moment delighted at hearing that these troops were coming; and having thus obtained the greater part of McDowell's corps, he was quite gracious in his acknowledgments to the Government. He said, June 7 : I am glad to learn that you are pressing forward reenforcements so vigorously. I shall be in perfect readiness to move forward and take Richmond the moment McCall reaches here and the ground will ad- mit the-passage of artillery. McCall and his perfectly appointed division of ten thousand men and five batteries of ar- tillery began to arrive on the nth, and were all present for duty on the 13th; and as if Providence were uniting with the Government to satisfy both the general's requirements, he was able to telegraph on the 12th that the weather was good and the roads and the ground were rapidly drying. The weather continued remarkably fine for several days ; General Keyes on the 15th reported White Oak Swamp dried up so as to be fordable in many places.^ But the dry spell did not last forever, and on the night of the 15th General McClellan sends to Washington a note of lamentation ^ say- ing that the rain has begun again, which will " retard his movements somewhat." It is char- acteristic of him that he always regarded bad weather as exclusively injurious to him, and never to the other side. The President once said of him that he seemed to think, in defiance of Scripture, that Heaven sent its. rain only on JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPAIGN. 135 the just and not on the unjust. To an ener- getic general all kinds of weather have their uses. Johnston had embraced with alacrity the opportunity afforded by the terrible storm of May 30, and made it his ally in his attack on the 31st. It must not be forgotten that, although Mc- Clellan and his apologists have been for years denouncing the Government for having with- held from him McDowell's corps, the best part of that corps was actually sent to him. Frank- lin's magnificent division went to him in April, and no use whatever was made of it for several weeks; McCall's equally fine division was dis- patched to him. before the middle of June. In each case he said he only awaited the arrival of that division to undertake immediate active operations; and in each case, on the arrival of the eagerly demanded reenforcements, he did nothing but wait the good pleasure of the enemy. His own ofiicial reports show that he received by way of reenforcements, after his arrival in the Peninsula and prior to the 15th of June, not less than 39,441 men, of whom there were 32,360 present for duty.^ Yet all this counted for nothing with him ; he let hardly a day pass without clamoring for more. He was not even inclined to allow the Admin- istration any discretion in regard to the man- ner in which he was to be reenforced. He insisted that McDowell should be sent to him by water, and not by land, so that he should come in by his rear instead of by his right flank; and when he was informed that McCall's force was expected to be restored to McDowell's corps, when that army joined him, he bitterly resented it. He said it did not show a proper spirit in McDowell ; and added sullenly, " If I cannot fully control all his troops, I want none of them; but would prefer to fight the battle with what I have, and let .others be re- sponsible for the results." ^ These selfish and petulant outbursts were met with unwearied patience and kindness on the part of the Presi- dent. On the 15th of June he wrote: The Secretary of War has turned over to me your dispatch about sending McDowell to you by water, instead of by land. I now fear he cannot get to you either way in time. vShields's division has got so terri- bly out of shape, out at elbows, and out at toes, that it will require a long time to get it in again. 1 expect to see McDowell within a day or two, when I will again talk with him about tlie mode of moving. McCall's division has nearly or quite reached you by now. This, with what you get from General Wool's old command, and the new regiments sent you, must give you an increase, since the late battles, of over twenty thousand. Doubt- less the battles, and other causes, have decreased you half as much in the same time; but then the enemy have lost as man^'n the same way. I believe I would 1 War Records. 2 McClellan's Report, June 14. 3 Lincoln, MS. 4 " As I did not think it probable that any reenforce- ments would be sent me in time for the advance on Rich- come and see you were it not that I fear my presence might divert you and the army from more important matters. 3 From this it will be seen that McClellan had no right to delay operations an hour after Mc- Call's arrival from any pretended expectation of the immediate coming of McDowell; and, indeed, he admits in his report ^ that as early as the 7th of June he had given up any such expectation. With no reason, therefore, for delay, but with every conceivable incentive to action, with an army amounting, after McCall joined him, to the imposing figure of 156,838, of whom an aggregate present of 127,327 is reported by McClellan himself as of the 20th of June,— though he makes a reduction to 114,691 of those " present for duty equipped," -^ — he wasted the month of June in a busy and bustling activity which was in its results equiv- alent to mere idleness. He was directly invited to attack by the fine weather of the middle of the month, which he describes as " splendid " in a dispatch of the 17th, and by the absence of Stonewall Jackson in the valley with his 16,000 veterans, reenforced by 10,000 troops from Lee's army, as McClellan himself believed and reported on the i8th. The President, by a dispatch of the same date, urged him to take advantage of this opportunity, saying: If this is true, it is as good as a reenforcement to you of an equal force. I could better dispose of things if I could know about what day you can attack Rich- mond, and would be glad to be informed, if you think you can inform me with safety. The terms in which General McClellan an- swered this inquiry are worthy of quotation as an illustration of that false air of energy and determination which he so often introduced into the expression of his intentions, while leav- ing, as in the last lines of this dispatch, a loop- hole for indefinite delay : ^ Our army is well over the Chickahominy, except the very considerable forces necessary to protect our flanks and communications. Our whole line of pick- ets in front runs within six miles of Richmond. The rebel line runs within musket range of ours. Each has heavy support at hand. A general engagement may take place any hour. An advance by us involves a battle more or less decisive. The enemy exhibits at every point a readiness to meet us. They certainly have great numbers and extensive works. If 10,000 or 15,000 men have left Richmond to reenforce Jackson, it illustrates their strength and confidence. This is a singularly characteristic view. The fact of a large detachment having left Lee affords him no encouragement; it simply im- presses him all the more with the idea of his enemy's strength. mond, I stated in the foregoing dispatch (of June 7) that I should be ready to move when General McCall's di- vision joined me." War Records. 5 June 18. 136 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. After to-morrow we shall fight the rebel army as soon as Providence will permit. We shall await only a favor- able condition of the earth and sky, and the comple- tion of some necessary preliminaries,! With these vague platitudes the President was forced to be content, and to wait, with the general, to see what Providence would ordain the day after to-morrow — or the next day. As usual, it was the enemy that startled Mc- Clellan out of his procrastination. On the 13th of June, General J. E. B. Stuart, with some 1200 Confederate cavalry and a few guns, started to ride around McClellan's army; touching on his way the South Anna Railroad bridge, Hanover Court House, Tunstall's Station on the York River Railway, and thence to Jones's Bridge on the Chickahominy, which he stopped to repair, crossing it on the 15th, and entering Richmond by the river road the next day. It has rarely been the fortune of a gen- eral to inflict such an insult, without injury, upon an opponent. General McClellan did not seem to feel that any discredit attached to him for this performance. On the contrary he congratulated himself that Stuart had done so little harm. The burning of two schooners laden with forage, and fourteen Government wagons, the destruction of some sutlers' stores, the killing of several of the guard and teamsters at Garlick's Landing, some little damage done at Tunstall's Station, and a little eclat, were the precise results of this expedition. 2 McClellan had for some time been vaguely meditating a change of base to the James River, and this raid of Stuart seems to have somewhat strengthened this purpose. Fitz John Porter, who more than any other possessed his confidence, says that he desired to effect this movement as soon as he gave up look- ing for McDowell to join him, which, we have seen from his report, was in the first week of June. "As early as June 18," Porter says, " he sent vessels loaded with supplies to the James River." ^ It is not intended to intimate that he was fully resolved upon this course ; but he appears to have kept it constantly be- fore him, in his undecided, irresolute way, all through the month. His communication with Commodore John Rodgers, who commanded on the James, indicates a purpose to move to some point on that river. He says on the 24th : In a few days I hope to gain such a position as to enable me to place a force above Ball's and Drewry's bluffs, so that we can remove the obstructions and place ourselves in communication with you so that you can cooperate in the final attack. In the mean time please keep me some gun-boats as near Drewry's Bluff as prudence will permit, 1 1 War Records. 2 McClellan's Report, War Records. 3 "Battles and Leaders of the Civil War," Vol. II., P- 325- 4 Webb, "The Peninsula," pp. 119, 120. On the 25th he pushed forward his picket line in front of Seven Pines to within four miles of Richmond, a point farther in advance than he had yet reached. At the same time he is- sued orders to his corps commanders south of the river that they were not to regard these new positions as their field of battle, but were to fall back, if attacked, to their old intrench- ments. ^ He had by this time heard of the ar- rival of Jackson's corps, and also credited a false and impossible rumor of the arrival of Beauregard and his troops from the West. He was fully informed of the attack threatened within a few hours, and yet he sent to Wash- ington for more troops. ^ "If I had another good division I could laugh at Jackson," ^ he said, while he knew that Jackson was march- ing upon his right. He. made his usual com- plaint and threat of putting the responsibiHty where it belonged. These wanton accusations at such a time moved the President, not to anger, but to genuine sorrow. Yet he answered with almost incredible patience : Your three dispatches of yesterday in relation to the affair, ending with the statement that you completely succeeded in making your point, are very gratifying. The latter one, suggesting the probability of your be- ing overwhelmed by 200,000, and talking of where the responsibility will belong, pains me very much. I give you all I can, and act on the presumption that you will do the best with what you have ; while you continue, ungenerously I think, to assume that I could give you more if I would. I have omitted, and shall omit, no opportunity to send you reenforcements whenever I possibly can. It is impossible to say how long his desul- tory preparations would have lasted if General McClellan had been left to himself; but after the 23d of June, the power of deciding upon what day he should attack had already passed out of his hands. General Lee had made, at his leisure, all his arrangements for attacking the Union army, and haj chosen the time and the manner of onset, — as Johnston did a month before, — without the slightest reference to any possible initiative of McClellan. He had, during the month allowed him by the inac- tivity of his opponent, brought together from every available source a great army, almost equal in numbers to the Army of the Potomac. Though there is a great disparity in the ac- counts of the different Confederate ofticers who have written upon this subject, there is no rea- son to doubt that the official estimate quoted with approval by General Webb, which states Lee's force as 80,762, is substantially correct. Webb says that McClellan's effective force for the " seven days' battles " was 92,500*— consid- erably less than his own official report of the 20th of June gives him. The Confederate forces were, like the army opposed to them, of the best material the country could furnish ; JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPAIGN. 137 and no better men ever went to war, in any age or region. It is an unsolved and now an insolvable question whether the Confederates had gained or lost by the wounding of John- ston and the substitution of Lee as the com- mander of their principal army. They were both men of the best ability and highest charac- ter that the Southern States could produce; both trained soldiers, of calm temper, and great energy ; and both equally honorable and mag- nanimous in their treatment of their subordi- nates. But General Lee had a great advantage over his predecessor in possessing the perfect confidence and personal friendship of Jefferson Davis, the head of the Confederate Govern- ment. He was always sure in his enterprises of what Johnston often lacked, the sincere and zealous support of the Richmond Government. He also enjoyed, to an unusual degree, the w^arm regard and esteem of those who were brought into personal or official relations with him. His handsome and attractive presence, his dig- nified yet cordial rhanner, a certain sincerity and gentleness which was apparent in all his words and actions, endeared him to his asso- ciates and made friends of strangers at first sight. Everything he asked for was given him. He had been the favorite of General Scott in the old army; he became the favorite of Mr. Davis in his new. command. The army which Johnston gave up to him had been almost doubled in numbers by the time he considered himself ready to employ it against McClellan.i Lee's preparations were promptly and ener- getically made. Immediately after Stuart's raid was completed he ordered Stonewall Jackson to join him by a letter of the i6th, which gave minute instructions for his march and enjoined upon him the greatest secrecy and swiftness. To mask this movement he ostentatiously sent Jackson two brigades from Richmond, with drums beating and colors flying, a proceeding which was promptly reported to McClellan and caused him at first some perplexity,'^ but which he explained by his usual conclusion that Lee had so overwhelming a force that a few brigades here or there made no difference to him. The manoeuvre was of little practical account, however, as McCleUan was fully in- formed of Jackson's approach in time to pro- vide against it, or to anticipate his arrival by taking the offensive. He even knew as early as the 25th that Jackson was to come in on his right and rear,- but he made no use of this knowledge except to reproach the Government for not sending him more troops. Jackson re- ported at Richmond in person on the 23d of June, in advance of his corps ; and in a confer- ence with Longstreet and the two Hills the 1 Johnston's "Narrative," pp. 145, 146. 2 War Records. Vol. XXXVII.— 20. plan of attacking the Federal right wing, north of the Chickahominy, was agreed upon. As Jackson's troops had the greatest distance to march, it was left to him to say when the at- tack should be made. He named the morning of the 26th of June, giving himself, as it after- wards appeared, too little time. General Lee matured his plan on the 24th, and issued his orders for the coming campaign. The most striking thing about them is his evi- dent contempt for his opponent. He sent, in effect, almost his entire army to the north side of the Chickahominy to strike McClellan's right wing. The enemy is to be " driven from Mechanicsville " ; the Confederates are to sweep down the Chickahominy and endeavor to drive tlie enemy from hiS'position above New Bridge ; Gen- eral Jackson bearing well to his left, turning Beaver Dam Creek, and taking the direction towards Cold Harbor. They will then press forward towards the York River Railroad, closing upon the enemy's rear, and forcing him down the Chickahominy. Any ad- vance of the enemy towards Richmond will be pre- vented by rigorously following his rear, and crippling and arresting his progress. He anticipated the possibility of McClellan's abandoning his intrenchments on the south side of the river, in which case he is to be " closely pursued " by Huger and Magruder. Cavalry are to occupy the roads to arrest his flight " down the Chickahominy." General Lee's plan and expectation was, in short, to herd and drive down the Peninsula a magnificent army, superior in numbers to his own, and not inferior in any other respect — if we except the respective commanders-in-chief, who were at least equally distinguished engineers. In this enterprise he deserved and courted defeat by leaving the bulk of McClellan's army between himself and Richmond. When he laid his plan before Jefferson Davis, the latter saw at once this serious defect in it. He says : I pointed out to him that our force and intrenched line between the left flank of the enemy and Richmond was too weak for a protracted resistance ; and if Mc- Clellan was the man I took him for, ... as soon as he found that the bulk of our army was on the north side of the Chickahominy he would not stop to try con- clusions with it there, but would immediately move upon his objective point, the city of Richmond. If, on the other hand, he should behave like an engineer of- ficer, and deem it his first duty to protect his line of communication, I thought the plan proposed was not only the best, but would be a success. Something of his old esprit de corps manifested itself in General Lee's first reponse that he did not know engineer officers were more likely than others to make such mistakes ; but immediately passing to the main subject, he added, " If you will hold him as long as you can at the intrench- ments, and then fall back on the detached works around the city, I will be upon the enemy's heels before he gets there." ^ But everything shows that he anticipated no •^ Davis, " Rise and Fall of the Confederate Govern- ment," Vol. II., p. 132. 138 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. such action on the part of McClellan. All his orders, all his dispositions, indicate clearly that he thought of nothing but driving him down the Chickahominy towards Yorktown, and cap- turing or dispersing his army. The measure of success he met with will always be, in the general judgment, a justification of his plan; but the opinion of the best military critics on both sides is that it never could have succeeded had it not been for McClellan's hallucination as to the numbers opposed to him. From the hour that Lee crossed his troops over the Chickahominy, leaving that river and McClel- lan's army between him and Richmond, he risked the fate of the Confederacy upon his belief that the Union general would make no forward movement. His confidence grew with every step of McClellan's retreat from Beaver Dam Creek to Malvern Hill, and was dearly paid for in the blood of his soldiers. The first meeting between the two armies resulted in a terrible defeat for the Confeder- ates. About 3 o'clock on the afternoon of the 26th, the rebel forces, commanded by Long- street, D. H. Hill, and A. P. Hill, attacked the Union troops in position on the east side of Beaver Dam Creek, commanded by General McCall, whose division had been added to Fitz John Porter's corps, ably assisted by Seymour, Meade, and Reynolds. Of the last two, the one gained an undying fame and the other a glorious death at Gettysburg. The Confederates were in greatly superior force, but the Union troops had the advantage of position; and though both sides fought with equal valor, before night fell the rebels were repulsed with great slaughter. General Mc- Clellan visited Fitz John Porter's headquar- ters at night, after the battle. He found an exultant and victorious army, almost unscathed by the fierce conflict of the day. Porter re- ports his loss at 250 out of the 5000 engaged, and says the enemy lost nearly 2000 of their 10,000 attacking.! If Porter, instead of Mc- Clellan, had been in command of the army, Richmond might have been under the Union flag the next day. His soldierly spirit, flushed with the day's success, comprehended the full advantage of the situation. He urged Mc- Clellan to seize his opportunity ; he proposed " to hold his own at the Beaver Dam line, shghtly reenforced, while General McClellan moved the main body of his army upon Rich- mond." 2 The General-in-Chief had not resolu- tion enough to accept or reject this proposition 1 " Battles and Leaders of the Civil War," Vol. II., P'33r- 2 We are here quoting the language of General Webb, whose testimony is beyond question. " The Peninsula," p. 130. 3 " Battles and Leaders of the Civil War," Vol. II., p. 398. of his gallant subordinate. He returned to his own headquarters to make up his mind, and about "3 or 4 o'clock in the morning " sent his final order to Porter to retire to a position some four miles east, behind Boatswain Swamp, and there await the further attack of the enemy. General Porter's personal devotion to Mc- Clellan, which was afterwards to bring him into lifelong trouble, has never allowed him to criticise this decision of his chief which over- ruled his own bold and intelligent plan. Let us see how the ablest and most efficient Con- federate general engaged in this campaign regarded it. General Longstreet says : In my judgment the evacuation of Beaver Dam Creek was very unwise on the part of the Federal commanders. We had attacked at Beaver Dam, and had failed to make an impression at that point, losing several thousand men and officers. This demonstrated that the position was safe. If the Federal commanders knew of Jackson's approach on the 26th, they had ample time to reenforce Porter's right before Friday morning, the 27th, with men and field defenses, to such extent as to make the remainder of the line to the right secure against assault. So that the Federals in withdrawing not only abandoned a strong position, but gave up the morale of their success, and transferred it to our somewhat disheartened forces ; for, next to Malvern Hill, the sacrifice at Beaver Dam was un- equaled in demoralization during the entire summer. 3 It is hard to understand what General Mc- Clellan means when he says in his report that the 26th was " the day he had decided on for our final advance.". If he thought it safe to at- tack Richmond with Lee and his army in front of him, how much more advantageous would such an attack have been with Lee and his army engaged in a desperate battle north ol" the Chickahominy. There is no indication in his orders or dispatches of these days — if we except one order to Porter, hereafter to be men- tioned — that he had any more definite pur- pose than to await the action of the enemy, and retreat to the James, if necessary. His mind was filled with that fantastic idea he had adopted of ah army of 200,000 under Lee. In his re- port, written a year afterwards, he reiterates and dwells upon this absurd and already dis- proved fiction, basing his persistent belief on the reports of his ridiculous detective service. This is the only explanation possible of his ac- tion during this momentous week while he was flying from phantom myriads which existed only in his own brain, and his brave army was turning and checking Lee's pursuing forces at every halt it made. , . On the morning of the 27th Porter withdjew to his new position, famous ever thereafter as the battlefield of Gaines's Mill, or of the Chick- ahominy, as it is called by Southern wTiters. His ground, like that of the day before, was admirably chosen for defense. He had less JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPALGN. 139 than one-third the number of the host which was marching by every road on the west and north to destroy him.i He knew his force was too small to defend so long a line against such numbers, but his appeals to McClellan for re- enforcements brought no response until late in the day, when Slocum's division was sent him. With the troops he had he made a magnificent fight, which, in spite of his subsequent history, makes us regret that he had not commanded the entire Army of the Potomac that day. With the exception of the small detachments left on the south side of the river under Magru- der to amuse McClellan, the whole army of General Lee, numbering over 60,000 men, was advancing upon Porter's single corps. It was led by the best generals of the South — Long- street, the two Hills, Whiting, Hood, Ewell, and the redoubtable Jackson, whose corps, though marching with less than their usual ce- lerity, had turned Beaver Dam Creek the night before, and had now arrived at the post assigned them opposite Porter's right. General Lee commanded on the field in person, and Jef- ferson Davis contributed whatever his presence was Avorth. The battle began at noon, and as evening fell upon the desperately fought field the entire Confederate army, by a simultaneous advance, forced back the Union troops, overcome by numbers and wearied with seven hours of con- stant fighting.^ There was no confusion except at the point on the right where Morell's line had been pierced by Hood's brigade, where two regiments were made prisoners. Everywhere else the Union soldiers retired fighting, turning from time to time to beat back the enemy, until night put an .end to the conflict. Porter had lost 4000 in killed and wounded, one- sixth of his men; Lee something more, about one-twelfth of his. Lee had absolutely failed in his object — to dislodge the Union army from its position and " drive it down the Chicka- hominy." Of the heroic valor of this sanguinary day's work there can be no question. There is much 1 " Porter's force consisted of Morell's, McCall's, and Sykes's divisions ; in all, 17,330 infantry for duty. There were present with him 2534 artillery, of which, from the nature of the ground, but a small portion could be used; and 671 of the regular cavalry guarded the bridges." [Wet)b, " The Peninsula," p. 129.] 2 Porter says: "The forces in this battle were: Union, 50 regiments, 20 batteries; in all, about 27,000 men [including the reenforcements received during the day]. Confederate, 129 regiments, 19 batteries; in all, about 65,000." 3 "At last a moment came when action was impera- tive. The enemy assumed the initiative, and we had warning of when and where he was to strike. Had Porter been withdrawn the night of the 26th, our army would have been concentrated on the right bank, while two corps at least of the enemy's force were on the left bank. Whatever course we then took, whether to question of the wisdom of it. If McClellan had made up his mind to retreat to the James, he might have withdrawn Porter to the south side of the Chickahominy during the night of the 26th, after his signal victory at Beaver Dam.^ But, as we have seen, he gave no defi- nite orders until 3 o'clock the next morning, when he directed Porter to retire to Gaines's Mill. During all the terrible conflict of the 27th, he left his gallant subordinate to fight three times his force, with no intimation of his ultimate purpose. Porter had a right to think that the price of his tremendous sacrifice was to be the capture of Richmond. McClellan's orders to him^ on the 23d included these words : The troops on this side will be held ready either to support you directly or to attack the enemy in their front. If the force attacking you is large, the general would prefer the latter course, counting upon your skill and the admirable troops under your command to hold their own against superior numbers long enough for him to make the decisive inovement which will determine the fate of Richmond. In addition to this we have the most unim- peachable authority for saying that Porter on the battlefield was left with the same impres- sion. General Webb, who was present with General Porter during the fight, ordered to that duty from McClellan's headquarters, says: He carried with him to General Porter the distinct impression, then prevailing at the headquarters of the army, that he was to hold this large force of the enemy on the left bank of the Chickahominy in order that Gen- eral McClellan, with the main army, might break through and take Richmond. It was this inspiring thought which moved Porter and his 20,000 to such a prodigious feat of arms. General Webb says : The sacrifice at Gaines's Mill . ■ . . was warranted, if we were to gain Richmond by making it; and the troops engaged in carrying out this plan, conceiving it to be the wish of the general comm^anding, were successful in holding the rebels on the left bank. 4 But the general commanding was simply incapable of the eftbrt of will necessary to carry strike at Richmond and the portion of the enemy on the right bank, or move at once for the James, we would have had a concentrated army, and a fair chance of a brilliant result in the first place; and in the second, if we accomplished nothing, we would have been in the same case on the morning of the 27th as we were on that of the 28th — minus a lost battle and a compulsory retreat; or, had the fortified lines (thrown up expressly for the object) been held by 20,000 men (as they could have been), we could have fought on the other side with 80,000 men instead of 27,000 ; or, finally, had the lines been abandoned, with our hold on the right bank of the Chickahominy, we might have fought and crushed the enemy on the left bank, reopened our communications, and then returned and taken Richmond." [From Re- port of General liarnard, Chief of Engineers, Army of the Potomac. War Records.] 4 Webb, "The Peninsula," p. 187. 140 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. out his share of the plan. He gives us to un- derstand, in his report, and in subsequent arti- cles, that he resolved upon his retreat to the James on the 25th of June. General Webb adgpts this theory, and adds that McClellan thought that the capture of Richmond, with Lee beyond the Chickahominy, was not a proper military movement. It is not in the competence of any one to judge what were General McClellan's thoughts and intentions from the 23d to the 27th of June. So late as 8 o'clock on the night of the 27th, a dis- patch from him to the War Department indi- cates that he thought the attack of Magruder on the right bank was more serious than that upon Porter on the left. " I may be forced," he says, " to give up my position during the night, but will not if it is possible to avoid it"; and as a matter of course the usual refrain fol- lows : " Had I twenty thousand fresh and good troops, we would be sure of a splendid victory to-morrow." ^ Magruder, who had been left to guard Richmond with a thin curtain of troops, had been all day repeating the devices which were so successful at Yorktown. He had rat- tled about McClellan's entire front with so much noise and smoke as to create the im- pression of overwhelming numbers. Even the seasoned corps commanders were not unaf- fected by it. Franklin thought it not prudent' to send any reenforcements from his line to Porter. Sumner offered to send two brigades, but thought it would be hazardous. The real state of the case can best be seen from Magru- der's own report. He says : From Friday night until Sunday morning I con- sidered the situation of our army as extremely criti- cal and perilous. The larger portion of it was on the opposite side of the Chickahominy. The bridges had been all destroyed ; but one was rebuilt (the New Bridge), which was commanded fully by the enemy's guns from Golding's ; and there were but 25,000 men between his army of 100,000 and Richmond. . . . Had McClellan massed his whole force in column, and advanced it against any point of our line of battle, — as was done at Austerlitz, under similar circumstances, by the greatest captain of any age, — though the head of his column would have suffered greatly, its momentum 1 War Records. 2 " Battles and Leaders of the Civil War," Vol. II., p. 361. 3 The following shows the opinion of two of the most prominent Confederate officers upon this matter. It is an extract from a letter of General J. E. John- ston to General Beauregard, dated Amelia Springs, August 4. 1862, immediately after the Seven Days' Battles : " But forroy confidence in McClellan's want of enter- prise, I should on Thursday night, after three-fourths of the troops had crossed the Chickahominy, have appre- hended that he would adopt the course you suggest for him. Had he done so, he might have been in Richmond on Friday before midday. By concentrating his troops on the south side of the river before daybreak on Fri- day he would have been between our main body and v»^ould have insured him success ; and the occupation of our works about Richmond, and consequently the city, might have been his reward. His failure to do so is the best evidence that our wise commander fully under- stood the character of his opponent.! D. H. Hill says the same thing i^ During Lee's absence Richmond was at the mercy of McClellan. . . . The fortifications around Rich- mond at that time were very slight. McClellan could have captured the city with vepy little loss of life. The want of supplies would have forced Lee to attack him as soon as possible, v(^ith all the disadvantages of a pre- cipitated movement. 3 General McClellan did not visit the field of battle during the day. * At night he summoned Porter across the river, and there made known to him and the other corps commanders, for the first time, his intention to change his base to the James. Porter was ordered to retire to the south bank, and destroy the bridges after him. This was accomplished safely and in good order, and the bridges were destroyed soon after sunrise on the 28th. The movement to the James once resolved upon, it was exe- cuted with great energy and ability. General Keyes moved his corps, with artillery and bag- gage, across the White Oak Swamp, and pos- sessed himself of the ground on the other side, for the covering of the passage of the other troops and the trains, by noon of the 28th. General Porter's corps, during the same day and night, crossed the White Oak Swamp, and established itself in positions that covered the roads from Richmond. Franklin withdrew from the extreme right after a skirmish at Golding's Farm. Keyes and Porter continued in the ad- vance, and established their two corps safely at Malvern Hill, thus securing the extreme left flank of the army in a commanding and im- portant situation. This movement took General Lee com- pletely by surprise. Anticipating nothing but a retreat down the; Chickahominy,^ he had thrown his left wing and his entire cavalry force in that direction ; and when he became aware of his mistake, a good deal of precious time was already lost, and he was deprived, the city, with only one-fourth of our force in his way. This fraction he. could have beaten in four hours, and marched to Richmond in two hours more." [Published in the "New York Times," June 17, 1883.] 4 " Question. Were you with the right or left wing of the army during the battle of Gaines's Mill ? ^^ Answer. [General McClellan.] I was on the righj;^ bank of the river, at Dr. Trent's house, as the miost central position." [Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War. ] 5 " General Lee, presuming that the Federalists would continue to v/ithdraw, if overpowered, towards the York River Railroad and the White House, directed General Jackson to proceed with General D. H. Hill to a point a few miles north of Cold Harbor, and thence to march to that place and strike their line of retreat." [Dabney, p. 443.] JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPALGN. 141 during the three days that followed, of Stuart's invaluable services. But having ascertained on the 29th that McClellan was marching to the James, he immediately started in pursuit, sending his whole force by parallel roads to intercept the Army of the Potomac near Charles City Cross-roads, midway between the V/hite Oak Swamp and the James. Longstreet was to march with A. P. Hill by the Long Bridge road; while Hugerwas to come up at the same time by the Charles City road, and General Holmes was to take up position below him on the river road. Jackson, crossing the Grapevine Bridge, was to come in from the north on the rear of the Federal army. Even the terrible lessons of Beaver Dam and Gaines's Mill had not convinced General Lee of the danger of attacking the Army of the Potomac in position. These lessons were repeated all along the line of march. Sumner repulsed Magruder at Allen's Farm, and then, retiring to Savage's Station, he and Franklin met another fierce onslaught from the same force, and completely defeated them. It was with the greatest dififtculty that Franklin could induce the gallant old general to leave the field. McClellan's orders were positive that the White Oak Swamp must be crossed that night ; but to ail Franklin's representations Sum- ner answered : " No, General, you shall not go, nor will L" When shown McClellan's positive orders, he cried out, " McClellan did not know the circumstances when he wrote that note. He did not knov\^ that we would fight a battle and gain a victory." ^ He only gave way and reluctantly took up his line of march for the southward on the positive orders of an aide-de-camp, who had just left McClel- lan.2 The next day occurred the battle of Glen- dale, or Frayser's Farm, as it is sometimes called. Jackson, with unusual slowness, had arrived at Savage's Station the day before, too late to take part in the battle there ; and when he came to White Oak Swamp the bridge was gone and Franklin occupied the heights be- yond. His force was therefore paralyzed dur- ing the day. He made once or twice a feeble attempt to cross the swamp, but was promptly met and driven back by Franklin. Huger, on the Charles City road, failed to break through some shght obstruction there. Holmes was in terror of the gunboats near Malvern Hill and could give no assistance; so that Long- street and A. P. Hill were forced to attack 1 <' Battles and Leaders of the Civil War," Vol. II-' P- 375- 2 The corps commanders were left almost entirely without directions, as the followinij, from the report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, shows : " Question. By whom was the battle of Savage's Station fought ? Did you yourself direct the move- the Union center, at Glendale, on pretty nearly even terms. Here a savage and obstinate con- flict took place, which was felt on both sides to be the crisis of the campaign. If the Union center had been pierced, the disaster would have been beyond calculation. On the other hand, if our army had been concentrated at that point, and had defeated the army of Lee, the city of Richmond would have been the prize of victory. General Franklin says that the Prince de Joinville, who was at that moment taking leave of the army to return to Europe, said to him with great ear- nestness, "Advise General McClellan to center his army at this point and fight the battle to-day. If he does, he will be in Richmond to- morrow." Neither side won the victory that day, though each deserved it by brave and persistent fighting. General McClellan, intent upon securing a defensive position for his army upon the James, left the field before the fight- ing began ; while Longstreet, Lee, and Jeffer- son Davis himself were under the fire of the Union guns during the afternoon. When dark- ness put an end to the fighting the Federal generals, left to their discretion, had accom- plished their purpose. The enemy had been held in check, the trains and artillery had gone safely forward by the road which the battle had protected, and on the next morning, July I, the Army of the Potomac was awaiting its enemy in the natural fortress of Malvern Hill. It was at this place that General Lee's con- tempt for his enemy was to meet its last and severest chastisement. The position strikingly resembled the battle- field of Gaines's Mill. The Union army was posted on a high position, covered on the right and on the left by swarapy streams and wind- ing ravines. Woods in front furnished a cover for the formation of the Confederate columns, but an open space intervening afforded full play for the terrible Federal artillery. It was not the place for a prudent general to attack, and Lee was usually one of the most prudent of generals. But he had his whole army well in hand, Jackson having come up in the night, and he decided to risk the venture. D. H. Hill took the liberty of representing the great strength of McClellan's position, and to give his opinion against an assault. Longstreet, who was present, laughed and said, " Don't get scared, now that we have got him whipped." " It was this belief in the demoralization of the Federal army," Hill says, " that made our ments of the troops, or were they directed by the corps commanders ? '■'■Answer. [General McClellan.] I had given gen- eral orders for the movements of the troops ; but the fighting was done under the direct orders of the corps commanders." 142 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. leader risk the attack." Lee evidently thought the position could be carried by a coup de main. The order to his generals of division is a curiosity of military literature : Batteries have been established to rake the enemy's line. If it is broken, as is probable, Armistead, who can witness the effect of the fire, has been ordered to charge with a yell. Do the same. On the part of the Confederates the bat- tle was as ill executed as it was ill conceived. There was a vast amount of blood and valor wasted by them; while on the Union side, un- der the admirable leadership of Porter, Morell, and Couch, not a drop of blood nor an ounce of powder was thrown away. Successive at- tacks made by the Confederates from i o'clock until 9 were promptly and bravely repulsed by the Union soldiers. Jackson's forces suf- fered severely in getting into position early in the afternoon. One of Huger's brigades charged upon Couch about 3 o'clock, and was driven back, roughly handled. D. H. Hill waited along time for the "yell" from Armistead, which was to be his signal for onset. But Ar- mistead's yell in that roar of artillery was but a feeble pipe, and was soon silenced; and when Hill at last heard some shouting on his right and concluded to advance, he was repulsed and fearfully punished by the immovable brigades of Couch and Heintzelman. The most pictur- esque, perhaps we may say the most sensational, charge of the day was that m^ade by Magru- der late in the afternoon. His nine brigades melted away like men of snow under the fright- ful fire of Sykes's batteries and the muskets of Morell's steadfast infantry. This charge closed the fighting for the day. The Union line had not been broken. One remarkable feature of the battle of Malvern Hill was that neither of the command- ers-in-chief exercised any definite control over the progress of the fight. General Lee, it is true, was on the field, accompanied by Jeffer- son Davis ; but with the exception of that pre- posterous order about Armistead's yell, he seems to have allowed his corps commanders to fight the battle in their own way. Their reports are. filled v/ith angry recriminations, and show a gross lack of discipline and organ- ization. Early in the afternoon Lee ordered Longstreet and Hill to move their forces by the left flank, intending to cut off" the expected retreat of McClellan. Longstreet says : I issued my orders accordingly for the two division commanders to go around and turn the Federal right, when, in some way unknown to me, the battle was drawn on. We were repulsed at all points with fear- ful slaughter, losing six thousand men and accomplish- ing nothing. General McClellan was seldom on the field. He left it in the morning before the fighting began and went to his camp at Hax- all's, which was under the protection of the gunboats. He came back for a little while in the afternoon, but remained with the right wing, where there was no fighting; he said his anxiety was for the right wing, as he was perfectly sure of the left and the center. In this way he deprived himself of the pleasure of witnessing a great victory won by the troops under the command of his subordinate* gen- erals. It is not impossible that if he had seen with his own eyes the magnificent success of the Union arms during the day he would have held the ground which had been so gallantly defended. To judge from the accounts of the officers on both sides, nothing would have been easier. The defeat and consequent de- moralization of the Confederate forces sur- passed anything seen in the war, and it might have been completed by a vigorous offensive on the morning of the 2d. Even Major Dab- ney, of Jackson's staff", whose sturdy partisan- ship usually refuses to recognize the plainest facts unfavorable to his side, gives this picture of the feeling of the division commanders of Jackson's corps the night of the battle : After many details of loss and disaster, they all con- curred in declaring that McClellan would probably take the aggressive in the morning, and that the Con- federate army was in no condition to resist him.l But impressed by the phantasm of 200,000 men before him, McClellan had already re- solved to retire still farther down the James to Harrison's Landing, in order, as he says, to reach a point where his supplies could be brought to him with certainty. Commodore Rodgers, with whom he was in constant consul- tatioUj thought this could best be done below City Point. The victorious army, therefore, following the habit of the disastrous week, turned its back once more upon its beaten enemy, and established itself that day at Har- rison's Bar, in a situation which Lee, having at last gained some information as to the fight- ing qualities of the Army of the Potomac, declined to attack, a decision in which Jack- son agreed with him. After several days of reconnaissances he withdrew his army, on the 8th of July, to Richmond, and the Peninsular Campaign was at an end. Harrison's landing. • r General McClellan was greatly agitated ^ by the battle of Gaines's Mill,^ and by the emo- 1 Dabney, p. 473. 2 Lieutenant-Colonel B. S. Alexander, of the Corps of Engineers, gave the following sworn evidence before the Committee on the Conduct of the War [p. 592]. Fie said he saw, on the evening of the 28th, at General McClellan's headquarters at Savage's Station, an order i I JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPAJGN. 143 tions incident to his forced departure for the James. Under the influence of this feeHng he sent to the Secretary of War from Savage's Sta- tion, on the 28th of June, an extraordinary dis- patch, which we here insert in full, as it seems necessary to the comprehension of his attitude towards, and his relations with, the Govern- ment: I now know the full history of the day. On this side of the river (the right bank) we repulsed several strong attacks. On the left bank our men did all that men could do, all that soldiers could accomplish ; but they were overwhelmed by vastly superior numbers, even after I brought my last reserves into action. The loss on both sides is terrible. I believe it will prove to be the most desperate battle of the war. The sad rem- nants of my men behave as men. Those battalions who fought most bravely, and suffered most, are still in the best order. My regulars were superb, and 1 count upon what are left to turn another battle, in com- pany with their gallant comrades of the volunteers. Had I 20,000 or even 10,000 fresh troops to use to- morrow, I could take Richmond ; but I have not a man in reserve, and shall be glad to cover my retreat, and save the material and personnel of the army. If we have lost the day we have yet preserved our honor, and no one need blush for the Army of the Potomac. I have lost the battle because my force was too small. I again repeat that I am not responsible for this, and I say it with the earnestness of a general who feels in his heart the loss of every brave man who has been needlessly sacrificed to-day. I still hope to retrieve our fortunes ; but to do this the Government must view the matter in the same earnest light that I do. You must send me very large reenforcements, and send them at once. I shall draw back to this side of Chick ahom- iny, and think I can withdraw all our material. Please understand that in this battle we have lost nothing but men, and those the best we have. In addition to what I have already said, I only M'ish to say to the President that I think he is wrong in regarding me as ungenerous when I said that my force was too weak. I merely intimated a truth which to-day has been too plainly proved. If at this instant I could dispose of 10,000 fresh men, I. could gain a victory to-morrow. I know that a few thousand more men would have changed this battle from a defeat to a victory. As it is, the Government must not and can not hold me re- sponsible for the result. I feel too earnestly to-night ; I have seen too many dead and vv^ounded comrades to feel otherwise than that the Government has not sus- tained this army. If you do not do so now, the game is lost. If I save this army now, I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or to any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this arm y.l It is probable that no other general ever retained his commission for twenty-four hours directing the destruction of the baggage of the officers and men, and he thought also the camp equipage ; ap- pealing to the officers and men to submit to this priva- tion because it would be only for a few days, he thought the order stated. He went to the general at once, and remonstrated with him against allowing any such or- der to be issued, telling him he thought it would have a bad effect upon the army — would demoralize the of- ficers and men ; that it would tell them more plainly than in any other way that they were a defeated army, running for their lives. This led to some discussion among the officers at headquarters, and Colonel Alex- ander heard afterward that the order was never pro- mulgated, but suppressed. after the receipt of such a communication by his superiors ; but it is easy to see the reason why he was never called to account for it. The evident panic and mental perturbation v/hich pierces through its incoherence filled the President with such dismay that its mutinous insolence was entirely overlooked. He could only wonder what terrible catastrophe already accomplished, or to come, could have wrung such an outcry as this from the general com- manding. Even the surrender of the army was not an impossible disaster to expect from a general capable of writing such a dispatch. Secretary Chase has left a memorandum show- ing that some such action was regarded as indi- cated by General McClellan's dispatches, and that even after his arrival at Harrison's Land- ing, General Marcy, his father-in-lav/ and chief of staff, in a visit to Washington spoke of it as a possibihty.2 Not knowing the extent of the mis- chance which had fallen upon the army, the President hastened at once to send a kind and encouraging answer to McClellan's dispatches: Save your army, at all events. Will send reenforce- ments as fast as we can. Of course they cannot reach you to-day, to-niorrow, or next day. 1 have not said you were ungenerous for saying you needed reenforce- ments. I thought you were ungenerous in assuming that I did not send them as fast as I could. I feel any misfortune to you and your army quite as keenly as you feel it yourself If you have had a drawn battle, or a repulse, it is the price we pay for the enemy not be- ing in Washington. We protected Washington and the enemy concentrated on you. Had we stripped Washington, he would have been upon us before the troops could have gotten to you. Less than a week ago you notified us that reenforcements were leaving Richmond to come in front of us. It is the nature of the case, and neither you nor the Government are to blame. Please tell at once the present condition and aspect of things,! The President also, with the greatest dili- gence, sent dispatches on the same day to General Dix, at Fort Monroe, to Admiral Goldsborough, commanding the naval forces in the James, and to General Burnside, in North Carolina, directing all three of them to strain every nerve in order to go to McClellan's assist- ance. At the same time he ordered -^ Halleck to send a large portion of his forces to the rescue. As the 29th and 30th of June passed with- 1 War Records. 2 This is thelanguage of Mr. Chase's memorandum: " General McClellan himself, in his dispatches before reaching Harrison's Landing, referred to the possi- bility of being obliged to capitulate with his entire army; and after reaching that place, General Marcy, .... who had been sent up to explain personally the situation to the President, spoke of the possibil- ity of his capitulation at once, or within two or three days." [Schuckers, " Life of S. P. Chase," p. 447. ] '^ This order was afterwards revoked on Halleck's representation that the detachment of so large a force would be equivalent to the abandonment of Tennessee. [War Records.] 144 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, out news of any further catastrophe, the Presi- dent and the Secretary of War began to think better of the situation, and concluded that it might possibly be improved by change of base to the James. Mr. Stanton telegraphed to General Wool that it looked " more like taking Richmond than at any time before." But on the ist of July a dispatch, dated at Turkey Bridge, arrived from General McClellan, who was still under the influence of great agitation, announcing that he is " hard pressed by supe- rior numbers," and fearing that he shall be forced to abandon his material and save his men under cover of the gunboats. " If none of us escape, we shall at least have done honor to the country. I shall do my best to save the army. Send more gunboats."^ While waiting for his troops to come to the new position he had chosen for them, he continued asking for reenforcements. "I need," he says, "50,000 more men, and with them I will retrieve our fortunes." The Secretary of War at once an- swered that reenforcements were on the way, 5000 from McDowell and 25,000 from Hal- leck, "Hold your ground," he says encourag- ingly, " and you will be in Richmond before the month is over."^ On the morning of the battle of Malvern, McClellan writes again, " I dread the result if we are attacked to-day by fresh troops. ... I now pray for time." It has been seen that his dread was uncalled for. Meanwhile, before hearing of the battle, the President had telegraphed : It is impossible to reenforce you for your present emergency. If we had a million of men we could not get them to you in time. We have not the men to send. If you are not strong enough to face the enem.y you must find a place of security, and wait, rest, and repair. Maintain your ground if you can, but save the army at all events, even if you fall back to Fort Monroe. We still have strength enough in the country and will bring it out. On the 2d, the flurry of the week having somewhat subsided, the President sent him the following : Your dispatch of Tuesday morning induced me to hope your army is having some rest. In this hope allow me to reason with you a moment. When you ask for 50,000 men to be promptly sent you, you surely labor under some gross mistake of fact. Recently you sent papers showing your disposal of forces made last spring for the defense of Washington, and advising a return to that plan. I find it included in and about Washington 75,000 men. Now please be assured I have not men enough to fill that very plan by 15,000. All of Fremont's in the valley, all of Banks's, all of McDowell's not with you, and all in Washington taken together do not exceed, if they reach, 60,000. With Wool and Dix added to those mentioned I have not, outside of your army, 75,000 men east of the moun- 1 War Records. 2 This was at a time when Lee had given up all thought of attacking the Union army at Harrison's Landing. tains. Thus the idea of sending you 50,000, or any other considerable force, promptly is simply absurd. If in your frequent mention of responsibility you have the impression that I blame you for not doing more than you can, please be relieved of such impression. I only beg that, in like manner, you will not ask im- possibilities of me. If you think you are not strong enough to take Richmond just now, I do not ask you to try just now. Save the army, material, and per- sonnel, and I will strengthen it for the offensive again as fast as I can. The governors of eighteen States offer me a new levy of 300,000, which I accept. This quiet and reasonable statement pro- duced no effect upon the general. On the 3d he wrote again in a strain of wilder exaggera- tion than ever. He says : It is of course impossible to estimate, as yet, our losses ; but I doubt whether there are to-day more than 50,000 men with their colors. To accomplish" the great task of capturing Richmond and putting an end to this rebellion, reenforcements should be sent to me, rather much over than much less than 100,000 men. I beg that you will be fully impressed by the magnitude of the crisis in which we are placed. 1 The didactic, not to say magisterial, tone of this dispatch formed a not unnatural intro- duction to the general's next important com- munication to the President, laying before him an entire body of administrative and political doctrine, in which alone, he intimates, the sal- vation of the country can be found : Headquartf,rs Army of the Potomac, Camp near Harrison's Landing, Virginia, July 7, 1862. Mr. President : You have been fully informed that the rebel army is in our front with the purpose of overwhelming us 2 by attacking our positions or re- ducing us by blocking our river communications. I cannot but regard our condition as critical, and I ear- nestly desire, in view of possible contingencies, to lay before your Excellency, for your private consideration, my general views concerning the existing state of the rebellion, although they do not strictly relate to the situation of this army or strictly come within the scope of my ofiicial duties. These views amount to con- victions, and are deeply impressed upon my mind and heart. Our cause must never be abandoned ; it is the cause of free instituti6ns and self-government. The Constitution and the Union must be preserved, what- ever may be the cost in time, treasure, and blood. If secession is successful, other dissolutions are clearly to be seen in the future. Let neither military disaster, political faction, nor foreign war shake your settled pur- pose to enforce the equal operation of the laws of the United vStates upon the people of every State. The time has come when the Government must determine upon a civil and military policy covering the whole ground of our national trouble. The responsibility of determining, declaring, and supporting such civil and military policy, and of directing the whole course- of national affairs in regard to the rebellion, must now \ be assumed and exercised by you, or our cause will be lost. The Constitution gives you power sufficient even for the present terrible exigency. . This rebellion has assumed the character of a war. As such it should be regarded, and it should be con- ducted upon the highest principles known to Christian civilization.' It should not be a war looking to the sub- jugation of the people of any State in any event. It should not be at all a war upon population, but against armed forces and political organizations. Neither con- JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMPAIGN, 145 fiscation of property, political executions of persons, territorial organization of States, or forcible abolition of slavery should be contemplated for a moment. In prosecuting the war all private property and un- armed persons should be strictly protected, subject only to the necessities of military operations ; all pri- vate property taken for military use should be paid or receipted for ; pillage and waste should be treated as high crimes, all unnecessary trespass sternly prohib- ited, and offensive demeanor by the military toward citizens promptly rebuked. Military arrests should not be tolerated, except in places where active hostilities exist ; and oaths not required by enactments — consti- tutionally made — should be neither demanded nor re- ceived. Military government should be confined to the preservation of public order and the protection of political rights. Military power should not be allowed to interfere with the relations of servitude, either by supporting or impairing the authority of the master, except for repressing disorder, as in other cases. Slaves, contraband under the act of Congress, seeking military protection, should receive it. The right of the Government to appropriate permanently to its own service claims to slave labor should be asserted, and the right of the owner to compensation therefor should be recognized. This principle might be extended upon grounds of military necessity and security to all the slaves within a particular State, thus working manu- mission in such State: and in Missouri, perhaps in western Virginia also, and possibly even in Maryland, the expediency of such a military measure is only a question of time. A system of policy thus constitu- tional and conservative, and pervaded by the influences of Christianity and freedom, would receive the support of almost all truly loyal men, would deeply impress the rebel masses and all foreign nations, and it might be humbly hoped that it would commend itself to the favor of the Almighty. Unless the principles governing the further conduct of our struggle shall be made known and approved, the effort to obtain requisite forces will be almost hopeless. A declaration of radical views, especially upon slavery, will rapidly disintegrate our present armies. The policy of the Government must be sup- ported by concentrations of military power. The na- tional forces should not be dispersed in expeditions, posts of occupation, and numerous armies ; but should be mainly collected into masses and brought to bear upon the armies of the Confederate States. Those armies thoroughly defeated, the political structure which they support would soon cease to exist. In carrying out any system of policy which you may form, you will require a commander-in-chief of the army; one who possesses your confidence, under- stands your views, and who is competent to execute your orders by directing the military forces of the nation to the accomplishment of the objects by you proposed. I do not ask that place for myself I am willing to serve you in such position as you may as- sign me, and I will do so as faithfully as ever subordi- nate served superior. I may be on the brink of eternity, and as I hope forgiveness from my Maker, I have written this letter ' with sincerity towards you and from love of my country. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, G. B. McClellan, Major- General Conmanding. His Excellency Abraham Lincoln, President.'^ This letter marks the beginning of General McClellan's distinctively political career. He had always been more or less in sympathy with the Democratic party, and consequently in an attitude of dormant opposition to the Admin- istration; although, after the manner of officers Vol. XXXVII.— 21. of the regular service, he had taken no pro- nounced political attitude. In fact, on his first assuming command of the Army of the Potomac, he had seemed to be in full sympathy with the President and Cabinet in the proceed- ings they thought proper to adopt for the sup- pression of the rebellion. He had even entered heartily into some of the more extreme meas- ures of the Government. His orders to General Banks directing the arrest of the secessionist m.embers of the Maryland legislature might have been written by a zealous Republican. "When they meet on the 17th," he says, "you will please have everything prepared to ar- rest the whole party, and be sure that none es- cape." He urges u-pon him the " absolute necessity of secrecy and success " ; speaks of the exceeding importance of the aftair — -"If it is successfully carried out it will go far towards breaking the backbone of the rebellion." This was in September, 186 1.2 Later in that year he was repeatedly urged by prominent Dem- ocratic politicians to declare himself openly as a member of their party. They thought it would be to his advantage and to theirs to have the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Potomac decidedly with them. At this time he declined their overtures, but they were press- ingly repeated at Yorktown and afterwards ; and he appears finally to have yielded to their solicitations, and the foregoing letter was the result. It is not at all probable that this doc- ument was prepared during the flight from the Chickahominy, or during the first days of doubt and anxiety at Harrison's Landing. It had probably been prepared long before, and is doubtless referred to in the general's dispatch of the 20th of June, in which he says, " I would be glad to have permission to lay before your Excellency my views as to the present state of military affairs throughout the whole country." He had at that time some vague and indefinite hope of taking Richmond; and such a manifesto as this, coming from a general crowned with a great victory, would have had a far different importance and influence from that which it enjoyed issuing from his refuge at Harrison's Bar, after a discrediting retreat. But the choice of occasion was not left to him. The letter could not be delayed forever; and such as it was, it went forth to the country as the political platform of General McClellan, and to the President as a note of defiance and opposition from the general in command of the principal army of the United States. Though more mod- erate in form, this letter was as mutinous in substance as the dispatch from Savage's Station. 1 Slight errors having crept into tiiis letter in its manifold publications, we print it here from the origi- nal manuscript received by the President. 2 McPherson, " History of the Rebellion," p. 153. 146 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. He assumes to instruct the President as to his du- ties and the Umits of his constitutional power. He takes it for granted that the President has no definite pohcy, and proceeds to give him one. Unless his advice is followed, " our cause will be lost." He postures as the protector of the peo- ple against threatened arbitrary outrage. He warns the President against any forcible inter- ference with slavery. He lets him know he can have no more troops, except on conditions know^n and approved. He tells him plainly that " a declaration of radical views, especially upon slavery, will rapidly disintegrate our pres- ent armies." Finally, he directs him to appoint a commander-in-chief of the army, and thinks it necessary to inform him that he does not ask the place for himself. The President, engrossed with more im- portant affairs, paid no attention, then or after- wards, to this letter. He simply passed it by in good-natured silence. General McClellan continued his dispatches, constantly announc- ing an impending attack upon his position, and constantly asking for reenforcements. He con- tinued this until General Lee withdrew his army to Richmond, a movement which General McClellan at once characterized as " a retreat." During all the time that McClellan remained at Harrison's Landing his correspondence with the Government was full of recrimination and querulousness ; and his private letters, which have been published since his death, show an almost indecent hostility to his superiors. He writes : Marcy and I have just been discussing people in Washington, and conclude they area "mighty trifling set." ... I begin to believe they wish this army to be destroyed. 1 When you contrast the pohcy I urge in my letter to the President with that of Congress and of Mr. Pope, you can readily agree with me that there can be little natural confidence between the Government and my- self. We are the antipodes of each other. 2 I am satisfied that the dolts in Washington are bent on my destruction. . . . Halleck is not a gen- tle man. 3 We need not multiply these utterances of a weak and petulant mind. They have already been judged by the highest authority. Gen- eral Sherman says, referring to this period, " The temper of his correspondence, official and private, was indicative of a spirit not con- sistent with the duty of the commanding gen- eral of a great army." ^ The President had been much disturbed by the conflicting reports that reached him as to the condition of the Army of the Potomac, and he therefore resolved by a personal visit to satisfy himself of the state of affairs. He 1 July 31. 2 August 2. i^ August 10. 4 In his paper on "The Grand Strategy of the War of the Rebellion," The Century for February, iT ' 5 War Records. reached Harrison's Landing on the 8th of July, and while there conferred freely, not only with General McClellan himself, but with many of the more prominent officers in com- mand. With the exception of General Mc- Clellan, not one believed the enemy was then threatening his position. Sumner thought they had retired, much damaged ; Keyes, that they had withdrawn to go towards Washington; Porter, that they dared not attack ; Heintzel- man and Franklin thought they had retired. Franklin and Keyes favored the withdrawal of the army from the James ; the rest opposed it. Mr. Lincoln came back bearing a still heavier weight of care. One thing that gave him great trouble was the enormous amount of absenteeism in the army. On returning to Washington he wrote this note to General McClellan, which, like most of his notes, it is impossible to abridge : I am told that over 160,000 men have gone into your army on the Peninsula. When I was with you the other day we made out 86,500 remaining, leaving 73,500 to be accounted for. I believe 23,500 will cover all the killed, wounded, and missing in all your battles and skirmishes, leaving 50,000 who have left other- wise. Not more than 5000 of these have died, leaving 45,000 of your army still alive and not with it. I be- lieve half or two-thirds of them are fit for duty to-day. Have you any more perfect knowledge of this than I have ? If I am right, and you had these men with you, you could go into Richmond in the next three days. How can they be got to you, and how can they be prevented from getting away in such numbers for the future ? To this note the general' replied in a letter which can hardly be regarded as a satisfactory answer to the President's searching questions. He says, in general terms, that there is always a difference between the returns and the effect- ive force of armies. He thinks, but is not certain, that the force given to him is not so much as 160,000, but admits that he has at th-at moment, pre'sent for duty, '^'^^ddz^ ; absent by authority, 34,472 ; without authority, nearly 4000. This is very far from the " 50,000 with their colors " which he reported a few days before ; and he gives no adequate reason for the vast aggregate of those absent by authority.^ But another question, far more import-ant and more grievous, was, what was to be done with the Army of the Potomac ? General Mc- Clellan would listen to nothing but an enor- mous reenforcement'of his army and another chance to take Richmond. Many of his prom- inent officers, on the contrary, thought that an advance on Richmond under existing con- ditions would be ill-advised, and that for the army to remain in its present position during the months of August a.nd September would be more disastrous than an unsuccessful bat- tle. The President had already placed Gen- eral John Pope at the head of the Army of JACKSON'S VALLEY CAMFALGN. 147 Virginia, in front of Washington, and he now resolved to send to Corinth for General Hal- leck, whom he placed in chief command of the armies of the United States. This was done by an order of the nth of July, and Gen- eral Halleck was requested to start at once for Washington. As soon as he could place his command in the hands of General Grant, the next officer in rank in his department, he came on to Washington, assumed command of the army on the 23d, and the very next day was sent to the camp of General McClellan, where he arrived on the 25th. He asked the general his wishes and views in regard to future oper- ations. McClellan answered that he purposed to cross the James River and take Petersburg. Halleck stated his impression of the danger and impracticability of the plan, to which McClel- lan finally agreed. The General-in-Chief then told him that he regarded it as a military neces- sity to concentrate Pope's army and his on some point where they could at the same time cover Washington and operate against Richmond; unless it should be that McClellan felt strong enough to take the latter place himself with such reenforcements as would be given him. McClellan thought he would require 30,000 more than he had. Halleck told him that the President could only promise 20,000; and that, if McClellan could not take Rich- mond with that number, some plan must be devised for withdrav/ing his troops from their present position to some point where they could unite with General Pope without expos- ing Washington. McClellan thought that there would be no serious difficulty in withdrawing his forces for that purpose ; but he feared the demoralizing influence of such a movement on his troops, and preferred that they should stay where they were until sufficient reenforcements could be sent him. Halleck had no authority to consider that proposition, and told him that he must decide between advising the with- drawal of his forces to meet those of Pope, or an advance upon Richmond with such forces as the President could give him. Hal- leck gained the impression that McClellan's preference would be to withdraw and unite with General Pope; but after consultation with his officers, he informed Halleck the next riiorn- ing that he would prefer to take Richmond. He would not say that he thought the proba- bilities of success were in his favor, but that there was " a chance," and that he was " will- ing to try it." His officers were divided on the subject of withdrawing or of making an attack upon Richmond. McClellan's delusion as to the number of the enemy had infected many of the most intelligent generals in his com- mand. General Keyes, in a letter to Quarter- master-General Meigs, assured him that the enemy " have 200,000 — more than double our number." At the same time General Meigs himself, simply from reading the Richmond newspapers and using his common sense in connection with their accounts, had formed an estimate of the rebel force very much nearer the truth than that made by the generals in front.i He found it to consist of 152 regi- ments, which, at an average of 700 men, — too high an average, — would give a total force of 105,000. By General McClellan's returns for the I oth of August he himself had an aggre- gate present of 113,000 men.^ Halleck's return to Washington was followed by a shower of telegrams from McClellan urg- ing the reenforcement of his army. " Should it be determined to withdraw it," he says on the 30th of July, " I shall look upon our cause as lost, and the demoralization of the army cer- tain " — a statement which certainly was lack- ing in reserve. The weight of opinion, however, among the generals of highest rank was on the other side. General Keyes wrote in the strong- est terms urging the withdrawal of the army.^ General Barnard, McClellan's chief of engi- neers, and General Franklin counseled the immediate withdrawal from the Jam.es to re- unite with the forces covering the Capital.^ Upon General Halleck's return to W^ashington this course was resolved upon. General Hal- leck's first order in that direction was dated the 30th of July, and requested McClellan to send away his sick as quickly as possible. Four days afterwards, without having taken in the mean while any steps to obey the order, he sent Gen- eral Hooker to Malvem Hill. He drove the Confederates from there after a sharp cav- alry skirmish. This so brightened McClellan's spirits that he telegraphed to Halleck on the 5th that " with reenforcements he could march his army to Richmond in five days " — a sug- gestion to which Halleck made the curt rejoin- der, " I have no reenforcements to send you." 2 1 War Records. 2 General Hooker told the Committee on the Con- duct of the War a curious story about this affair. He said that after General McClellan received his orders to abandon Harrison's Landing he went to him volun- tarily and suggested that, with the forces they had there, they could take Richmond, and urged him to do it. So confident was Hooker, that he was willing to take the advance, and so assured McClellan. On reaching his camp, about two hours after that interview, he says he found on his table an order from General McClellan to prepare himself with three days' rations and a supply of ammunition, and be ready to march at 2 o'clock the next day. " I firmly believe," said Hooker, " that order meant Richmond. I had said to McClellan that if we were unsuccessful it would probably cost him his head, but that he might as well die for an old sheep as for a lamb. But before the time arrived for executing that order it was countermanded." [Hooker, Testimony, Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War.] 148 O YE SWEET HEAVENS r' The order to dispose of the sick was not promptly obeyed, because General McClellan insisted upon knowing the intentions of the Government in regard to his army ; and after being informed that it was to be withdrawn from the James, several days more were wasted in wearisome interchange of dispatches between himself and Halleck, McClellan protesting with the greatest energy and feeling against this movement, and Halleck replying with per- fect logic and temper in defense of it. In a long and elaborate dispatch, in which Halleck considered the whole subject, he referred to the representation made to him by McClellan and some of his officers that the enemy's forces around Richmond amounted to 200,000, and that McClellan had reported that they had since received large reenforcements. He adds : General Pope's army is only about 40,000 ; your effective force, about 90,000. You are 30 miles from Richmond and General Pope 80 or 90, with the enemy directly between you, ready to fall with his superior numbers on one or the other as he may elect. Pope's army could not be diminished to reenforce you ; if your force is reduced to strengthen Pope, you would be too weak to hold your present position against the enemy. You say your withdrawal from your present position will cause the certain demoralization of the army. I cannot understand why this should be, un- less the ofiicers themselves assist in that demoraliza- tion, which I am satisfied they will not. You may reply, " Why not reenforce me here so that I can strike Rich- mond from my present position ? " You told me that you would require 30,000 additional troops ; you finally said that you would have " some chance of success " with 20,000 ; but you afterwards telegraphed me you would require 35,000. To keep your army in its pres- ent position until it could be so reenforced would almost destroy it in that climate. In the mean time Pope's forces would be exposed to the heavy blows of the en- emy without the slightest hope of assistance from you. He tells McClellan, in conclusion, that a large number of his highest officers are decidedly in favor of the movement. Weary at last of arguments, Halleck became more and more peremptory in his orders ; and this failing to infuse any activity into the move- ments of McClellan, he had recourse to sharp dispatches of censure which provoked oiily ex- cuses and recriminations. In some of his re- plies to Halleck's urgent dispatches, enjoining the greatest haste and representing the grave aspect of affairs in northern Virginia, McClel- lan replied in terms that indicated as little re- spect for Halleck as he had shown for the President and the Secretary of War. On the 6th of August, in answer to an order insisting on the immediate dispatch of a battery of artil- lery to Burnside, he calmly replies, " I will obey the order as soon as circumstances per- mit. My artillery is none too numerous now." On the 1 2th, little or no progress having yet been made,, he says : There shall be no unnecessary delay, but I cannot manufacture vessels. It is not possible for any one to place this army where you wish it, ready to move, in less than a month. If Washington is in danger now, this army could scarcely arrive in time to save it. It is in much better position to do so from here than from Aquia. At the same time the Quartermaster- General reported that " nearly every available steam vessel in the country was then under the con- trol of General McClellan." Only on the 17th of August was McClellan able to telegraph that he had left his camp at Harrison's Bar, and only on the 27 th of the month, when Pope's campaign had reached a critical and perilous stage, did he report himself for orders at Alexandria, near Washington. "O YE SWEET HEAVENS!" OYE sweet heavens ! your silence is to me More than all music. With what full delight I come down to my dwelling by the sea And look out from the lattice on the night ! There the same glories burn serene and bright As in my boyhood ; and if I am old Are they not also ? Thus my spirit is bold To think perhaps we are coeval. Who Can tell when first my faculty began Of thought ? Who knows but I was there with you When first your Maker's mind, celestial spheres, Contrived your motion ere I was a man ? Else, wherefore do mine eyes thus fill with tears As I, O Pleiades ! your beauty scan ? T. W. Parsons. MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. General Buell's Criticism on General Mitchel. IN an article called "Operations in North Alabama," General D. C. Buell, in the second volume of " Bat- tles and Leaders of the Civil War,"l has summed up the characteristics and qualifications of General O. M. Mitchel, by whom the operations in 1862 were per- sonally conducted, as follows : Upon the whole, it is difficult to find satisfaction in an attentive study of General Mitchel's proceedings during the period referred to. The first occupation of the Mem- phis and Charleston railroad in April was well executed ; but everywhere the pleasing impression of an apparently vigorous^ action is marred by exaggeration .... and self-seeking. The most trivial occurrence is reported with the flourish of a great battle But in spite of his peculiarities, General Mitchel was a valuable officer ; .... a man of good bearing and pure morals, of considerable culture, and some reputation in science, .... having lectured and published entertain- ingly on astronomy. He was energetic in a certain way, and had some qualification from practical experience, as well as by education, in railroad construction and man- agement, which was often useful in the war. He was not insubordinate, but was restless in ordinary service, am- bitious in an ostentatious way, and by temperament unsuited to an important independent command. With General Buell's opinion of General Mitchel's qualifications I have nothing to do ; but as to the data adduced in the paper referred to I beg leave to submit a few remarks. General Buell attempts to show a " sudden change " on the part of General Mitchel " from easy assurance to anxious uncertainty." In speaking of Mitchel's re- port to the Secretary of War of the capture of Bridge- port, Buell quotes : " This campaign is ended, and I can now occupy Hunts- ville in perfect security, while all of Alabama north of the Tennessee floats no flag but that of the Union." Stan- ton [continues Buell] answered his glowing dispatches naturally, "Your spirited operations afford great satis- faction to the President." Three days after Mitchel's dispatch as qitoted, he telegraphed Stanton, May 4, in explanation of some unexpected developments of the enemy, and says: "I shall soon have watchful guards among the slaves on the plantations from Bridgeport to Florence, and all who communicate to me valuable in- formation I have promised the protection of m.y Govern- ment. Should my course in this particular be disapproved, it would be impossible for me to hold my position. I must abandon the line of railway, and northern Alabama falls back into the hands of the enemy. No reenforcements have been sent to me, and I am promised none except a regiment of cavalry and a company of scouts, neither of which have reached me. I should esteem it a great military and political misfortune to be compelled to yield up one inch of the territory we have conquered." And again the same day : " I have promised protection to the slaves who have given me valuable assistance and infor- mation. If the Government disapproves of what I have done, I must receive heavy reenforcements or abandon my position." General Buell stops, in quoting, at the pith of Mitchel's dispatch. After the word " position " the dispatch ends : " With the aid of the neo^roes in watch- ing the river, I feel myself sufficiently strong to defy the enemy, ^'' 1 New York : The Century Co. Upon these three quotations General Buell bases his assertion of " sudden change from easy assurance to anxious uncertainty." In order to give a clear ex- planation it will be necessary to quote from another document, not mentioned by General Buell. At Nash- ville, on March ir, 1862, Buell, in writing on the sub- ject of fugitive slaves in Mitchel's camp, gave Mitchel the following orders (" Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 31): If nothing more, it is necessary that the discipline of your command shall be vindicated. You will therefore cause the negroes, if still in your camp, to be arrested and held until 12 o'clock to-morrow. If in that time the owners or their agents shall call for them, they will be allowed to take them away, and, if necessary, will be protected from harm or molestation. If they do not call for them, you will release and expel the negroes from your camp, and in future no fugitive slaves will be al- lowed to enter or remain in your lines. When Mitchel occupied north Alabama a month later he found that this order worked practically against a plan he had devised for insuring the safety of his position. He occupied an immense territory with a very small force. In order to keep open his com- munications, he operated a railroad, which he had cap- tured with ample rolling stock; but the citizens fired on his trains, cut his telegraph lines, and in one in- stance sawed the stringers of a bridge in order to wreck a train. He had but five hundred cavalry, which were soon completely run down. If he had spread out his force for outpost duty along his whole front, it would have formed a picket line with no army behind it. He could not hold the country with a picket line alone. He was obliged either to have both a picket line and an army or to abandon the territory. It was not a question with him whether the enemy could spare a force to cut him off, for this he could not cer- tainly know. There would be need of quick informa- tion in case the enemy should attempt to do so. Even General Buell, in referring to the work performed by Mitchel's force at this time ("Official Records," Vol. XVI., Part I., p. 32), says : It was not the number of the enemy that made its serv- ice difficult and credifable, but it was the large extent of country it occupied, the length of the lines it had to guard, and the difficulty of supplying it. The negroes were loyal, the whites disloyal. Mitchel organized a cordon of negroes along the bank of the Tennessee River. With these negroes to bring quick information, he felt a security that he could not feel without them. But the use of negroes was in direct conflict with General Buell's fugitive-slave order, which compelled Mitchel, when a slave had brought him in- formation, to turn him over to the tender mercies of those of whose movements he had informed. The first quotation ("Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 156) closed Mitchel's announcement of the capture of Bridgeport, which closed the campaign. The second quotation ("Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 162) was not telegraphed to Mr. Stan- ISO MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. ton, but is taken from a letter from Mitchel to Stanton, speaking of a raid of John Morgan in Mitchel's rear, of the bad disposition of troops guarding his rear, of their not being under his command as unusual in war, and asking the views of the Government as to the use of negroes for information. The third quotation ("Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 163) is from a tele- gram sent the same day as the letter, and designed to hasten a decision in the matter of the use of slaves. The whole correspondence means that with the negro picket line Mitchel felt safe in his position. Buell's order rendered such picket line impossible. Without the aid of the negroes Mitchel did not feel assured of being able to hold the territory. Let us next glance at the reports of the " occur- rences " which General Buell says were reported with the " flourish of a great battle." The only occurrences which required report while Mitchel w^as in north Alabama were the captures of Huntsville and of Bridgeport. Here is Mitchel's dispatch to Buell as to the former : After a forced march of incredible difificulty, leaving Fayetteville yesterday at 12 noon, my advanced guard, consisting of Turchin's brigade, Kennett's cavalry, and Simonson's battery, entered Huntsville this morning at 6 o'clock. The city was taken completely by surprise, no one having considered the march practicable in the time. We have captured about two hundred prisoners, fifteen locomotives, a large amount of passenger and box and platform cars, the telegraph apparatus and office, and two Southern mails. We have at length succeeded in cutting the great artery of railway communication be- tween the Southern States. (" Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 104.) If I were to rewrite this announcement to-day for publication, there is but one word I would change. Though there were difficulties encountered, the march was especially notable for its rapidity rather than dif- ficulty. Fifty-seven miles were traversed in forty-eight hours. If there is any record of such rapid marching by a body of four thousand infantry and artillery towards the enemy elsewhere during the war, I am not aware of it. As to the capture of Bridgeport : To Buell, after giving the method of his advance, Mitchel says : " Our first fire emptied the redoubt and breastworks, the en- emy fleeing across the bridge, with scarcely a show of resistance." ("Official Records," Vol. X., Part I., p. 655. ) To Stanton, Mitchel reported, " At our first fire the guard broke and ran." ("Official Records," Vol. X., Part II., p. 155.) There is certainly nothing of the " flourish of a great battle " in any of these reports. General Buell, in referring to the plan of campaign given by Mitchel to Stanton July 7, 1862, and quoted in the biography, says: "No plan of campaign was proposed to me by General Mitchel ; and no such con- troversy, or discussion, or series of consultations as would be inferred from the biography ever occurred between us." When General Buell arrived at Hunts- ville, Mitchel besought him, as I have stated in his biography ("Ormsby MacKnight Mitchel, Astronomer and General," Houghton, Mifflin & Co.), to move for- ward and occupy Chattanooga and the surrounding territory. I saw General Buell and General Mitchel myself, on the day after Buell's arrival, sitting over their maps from morning till noon at Mitchel's head- quarters at Huntsville. I know of one other person who witnessed the scene, and possibly there may be officers or men now living who remember it also. But it matters nothing whether they discussed the question before General Buell at the headquarters of the one or the other. That they discussed it is evident from the manuscript I have in my possession, addressed t<5 the Secretary of War, July 7, 1862. It is in Captain-E. W. Mitchel's handwriting, and is signed by General Mitchel himself. It begins, '■'■ Atyour request I present herewith a plan of campaign recently presented by me to General Buell 2dier his arrival at Huntsville." That the Secre- tary of War had a right to ask Mitchel's views no one can doubt. Mitchel was then interested in a proposed expedition down the Mississippi River, which it was intended he should command, and had no personal interest in the field he had left. To decline to give his views to the Secretary on account of motives of delicacy towards Buell would have been nothing short of moral cowardice. There is no evidence that General Mitchel ever exerted the slightest influence to General Buell's discredit. General Grant in his Memoirs has summed up, in these words, the probable advantages which would have accrued on prompt movements after the occupa- tion of Corinth : Bragg would then not [i. e., if Buell had been sent from Corinth direct to Chattanooga as rapidly as he could march] have had time to raise an army to contest the possession of middle and east Tennessee and Kentucky ; the battles of Stone River and Chickamauga would not necessarily have been fought ; Burnside would not have been besieged in Knoxville without power of helping him- self or escaping; the battle of Chattanooga would not have been fought. These are the negative advantages, if the term negative is applicable, which would probably have resulted from prompt movements after Corinth fell into possession of the National forces. The positive re- sults might have been : a bloodless advance to Atlanta, to Vicksburg, or to any other desired point south of Corinth in the interior of Mississippi. These remarks are applicable in this case, for Mitchel recommended a forward movement on July i, and Bragg did not march into Kentucky till about two months later. F. A. Mitchel. General Robertson in the Gettysburg Campaign. A RE-REJOINDER TO COLONEL MOSBY. I'N his rejoinder in The Century for December, 1887,1 in regard to the operations of my cavalry in the Gettysburg campaign, Colonel Mosby brings into prom- inence the fact that within twenty-four hours after General Stuart started. General Hooker chltpged from "defensive waiting" to aggressive movement, causing two days to be lost to General Stuart and fatally dis- rupting "all communication with Generals Lee and Ewelk" No matter how I performed the duty assigned to ine, I could not have cured the fatal defect which Hooker's movement to the Potomac, so unexpected by General Stuart, had produced. The apparent discrepancy be- tween statements made by me as to the place where I received the order from General Lee to hasten forward with my command is due to my reliance on the memory of my aides when writing in 1887 and to my own recol- lection in 1887. At neither tim.e was I writing from the records, nor did I deem important the place where the 1 See also The Century for May, 1887, and also for August, 1887, for the other articles in this discussion. TOPICS OF THE TIME, 151 courier met me. And some apparent inconsistency is made to appear by Colonel Mosby's quotation from my letter in 1877 of the words, "to await further orders," and following them immediately with a quotation from my orders that I was to hold the mountain gaps " as long as the enemy remain in your [my] front in force." This attempt to convict me of contradictory statements fails when the orders are examined which direct me to hold the gaps — " unless otherwise ordered by Gen- eral R. E. Lee, Lieutenant-General Longstreet, or my- self [General Stuart]." The orders are set forth in my first communication,! and speak for themselves. Colonel Mosby remarks that I have made " no ex- planation of the delay. " There was no delay to explain. Had there been at that critical moment, General Lee would not have passed over so great a delinquency. The time occupied was no more than was required for the performance of the duty imposed by my orders. The effort of Colonel Mosby to make it appear that I did not obey my orders as to the route I was to take fails when the orders are examined. While it is true that they directed me to "cross the Potomac and follow the army, keeping on its right and rear," they also directed me to " cross the Poto- mac at the different points crossed by it [the army of General Lee]." It was left therefore to my discretion where I was to cross, according to the circumstances that might arise in the future. I exercised my discre- tion, and satisfied General Lee. In paraphrasing General Jones's report. Colonel Mosby has suppressed a part of a short paragraph which I quote from the unpublished records. General Jones says : Washington, May 27, 1888. . . The three remaining regiments of the brigade ac- companied General Robertson by way of WiUiamsport and Chambersburg, arriving at Cashtown July 3. Near this point an order from General Lee required a force of cavalry to be sent at once to the vicinity of P'airfield to form a line to the right and rear of our line of battle. In the absence of General Robertson I determined to move my command at once into position, which met with the approbation of the general, who returned to camp before I was in motion. The important words which I have italicized are omitted in the paraphrase, in which Colonel Mosby lays particular stress on my " absence." I have only to notice another innuendo of Colonel Mosby by which he creates a wrong impression. He says: "As soon as the army returned to Virginia, General Robert- son, at his own request, was relieved of command." There is enough truth in this statement to make a good false impression. It was in August that I ap- plied for relief from command. Prostrated by illness and advised by my surgeon, Dr. Randolph, that my recovery depended on my getting better quarters and nursing than was possible in the open field near Cul- peper Court House, I applied for leave. Accompany- ing the order detaching me from the Army of Northern Virginia, Major McClellan wrote : "Thegeneral [Lee] joins with me and with the other members of the staff in the hope that you may soon be restored to health and duty, and that every success may attend you." My purpose in asking a change was to recover my health. Upon recovery I was ordered to South Carolina. I have dealt more at length upon Mosby's attack than its author merited, and solely because it was in the publications of The Century that his articles were to appear. B. II. Robertson. TOPICS OF THE TIME. The Value of a Presidential Election. THE month upon which we are entering will bring to a decision the twenty-sixth of our quadrennial Presidential elections ; for, although the election is not technically complete until the electors have voted and their votes have been counted, yet public opinion has practically subordinated everything else to this single occasion of the choice of electors by the people. The "campaign " which began in June comes to an end in November: the blare of the brass bands dies away; the unsavory coal-oil torch, the oil-cloth uniforms, the transparencies, and the campaign banners unite in a general procession into another four-years' obscurity; and as we draw breath again we are pressed hard by the recurring question, Is the game worth the candle ? The source of the question is not necessarily in that political pessimism which is affected by so many who think that they thus secure for themselves a place a little higher than the common run of their fellow-citizens ; 1 See The Century for August, 1887. it is much more commonly to be found in the condi- tions under which modern business is carried on. The actual volume of business has grown to proportions so enormous that the slightest interference witli it now causes very heavy losses ; and business methods are now so largely those of credit in its various forms that such losses tend to reduplicate themselves in a far more widely spread injury. A " blizzard " of three days' duration was only an annoying experience to our grandfathers : its effects nowadays may be marked in a strongly perceptible fall in the year's volume of busi- ness, perliaps in the failure of a number of railroads to pay dividends, in the consequent inability of many of their stockholders to carry out intentions on which other men had relied, and in the reverberation of loss in the most unexpected directions. If a bull in a china- shop is a proverbially undesirable visitant, the business interests of the United States can hardly be expected to welcome the irruption of the Presidential election, with its intense popular excitement, its general sus- pension of interest in everything else than the routine of business, and its occasional hints of the possibility. 152 TOPICS OF THE TIME, at least, of further anxiety growing out of the election itself. Under such circumstances, is the Presidential election worth its cost ? Natural as the question is, it ignores the fact that the enormous volume of our modern business has not been self-evolved and is not self-supporting. There are other elements in the national life which are more im- portant than any mere increase of wealth — elements on which the increase of wealth itself depends ; and among these the political education of the people holds a very high place. Passing for the moment the ques- tion of comparative cost, one can hardly deny the practical efficiency of the Presidential election as a method of political education for the people, and no election in our history has shown this characteristic more clearly than that of this year. The schoolmaster and the college professor are presumed to deal with an audience of a grade rather higher than usual; and yet they are still compelled to resort to examinations and other tests or coercive processes in order to secure in- terest from unwilling pupils. How much easier their work would become if their pupils should suddenly develop an interest in it so intense as to lead them to hold enthusiastic meetings and processions about it, or to argue, quarrel, and sometimes even fight about it, as the adherents of rival professors are said to have done in some of the universities of the Middle Ages. What other instrumentality could have taken the place of the Presidential election in compelling those most unwilling pupils, the voters of the United States, to study economic questions as they have done this year ? If, then, the superior efficiency of the Presidential election as a means of political education be granted, the vital importance of that result to our system wdpes out at once the other question of comparative cost. It is not easy to rate too high the influence which our democratic system, with its high hope of social ad- vancement for the individual or his children, has had upon that working power which has given us so large a part of our overflowing wealth. But an uneducated democracy is the fore-ordained prey of the coming plutocracy ; the increase of wealth merely hastens the catastrophe. To reconcile the permanence of democ- racy with the increase of wealth, the political educa- tion of the people is an absolute necessity, and the question of cost disappears in proportion to the in- crease of the instrument's efficiency. When the instru- ment is the best of its kind, its cost is no more to be reckoned a dead loss than the individual's expenditure for the clothes, shelter, and food which are essential to his existence and continued activity. If the cost of Presidential elections could be saved for a few decades, the disappearance of democracy, work, and wealth together would show that the "saving" had been al- together illusory. For such a Presidential election as that of 1888, with its fair and open struggle betv/een two naturally opposed political principles, and its consequent influ- ence as a political educator for the American democ- racy, there need be nothing but congratulations for the country, let its cost be what it may. There have been elections over which no such congratulations could be uttered — elections in which the cost was as great and the educational results nothing or next to nothing; but no such criticism can be aimed at the election of this year. There are very few voters in this country who have not in November a far larger and more distinct knowledge of the economic principles which underlie their political beliefs than they had six months ago ; and, whatever may be the party result of the election, this educational result is, after all, tl?e fundamental reason for the existence of the Presiden- tial election itself. And as we see this result continually coming into greater prominence, we may congratulate ourselves more heartily on the wisdom which gave us such an educational force, and on its new proof that democracy is not the rule of ignorance, but a system of self-education. The Punishment of Crime. English and American criminal law, in spite of its generally consistent determination to secure the safety , of the innocent, exhibits at least one marked eccentric- ity which is the seed of continual injustice, to say noth- ing of the warping effect which such an irregularity must inevitably exert upon any system, and upon the popular respect for it. Like every other science, law aims to have a homogeneous and well-rounded devel- opm-ent of its own, and to give its general principles the same action and force in one part of the system as in another. The anomaly of our system is that its crim- inal branch is permitted to ignore altogether certain principles of nature and method which are considered vital to other branches, such as civil law. The first object of the civil law is the maintenance ofthe rights of individuals. The fact that the smallest personal right is attacked, or even threatened, is enough to give jurisdiction to some engine of the law ; and the law's work is not done effectually until the right, if it proves to be a veritable right, is established and se- cured. It is not enough that the attempting wrong- doer be stopped at the point which he has reached, be prevented from going further, or even be punished for the past: he and his property are held responsible for the undoing of any wrong that has been done, and for the reestablishment of the violated right in all its original vigor and security. All this is summed up in the convenient word "damages." Human imperfec- tions very often prevent law from reaching the full con- supimation of its object ; but any such result is always felt to be reason for the law itself to be discontented with its failure. When we turn to criminal law, we seem to have fallen upon an entirely different atmosphere. Critmnal offenses are primarily against the state ; and yet, with the exception of such few general crimes as treason and rebellion, each of them involves some violation of an individual's rights. The murderer is hanged because he has violated the command of the state to refrain from committing murder ; but the crime has wrongfully extinguished some individual's right to life, as well as the right of his wife, children, or other dependents to support. Yet our criminal law, ex- cept in a few minor offenses, makes no effort what-- ever to vindicate the violated personal rights, or to make "damages" to the victim a component part of the offender's sentence. It may happen that, during the trial or punishment of the thief, the forger, or the counterfeiter, the property obtained by his crime is discovered, and the real owner is permitted to resume the property rights of which he has never been legally TOPICS OF THE TIME, 153 divested; but if no such discovery should be made, the law cares nothing, and is quite content vi^ith the punishment of the criminal, without thought or regret for the property rights which have disappeared under its eyes in the process. The boycotter, or the man who does malicious mischief in any form, may be pun- ished ; but his violations of personal rights remain un- redressed, unless a spasmodic public sympathy assumes the burden of righting them by general subscription. The one object of our criminal system seems to be the punishment of the wrong-doer ; and it seems to con- sider the restoration or satisfaction of individual rights as a mere incident, which may or may not occur, with- out affecting the success of its legitimate work. Under such a system, it is perhaps fortunate that the conventional and convenient blindness of Justice pre- vents her from seeing the full measure of the wrongs which her present theory passes complacently by from day to day. She draws her sword against the merchant or banker who, having been plundered by forger or burglar, ventures to compound the felony in order to get back part of his property ; but she does not pretend to conceal from the victim her belief that the recov- ery of the property in any more legitimate fashion is really no particular affair of hers. The barns and out- buildings of an owner are fired again and again by a concealed enemy, until even insurance becomes impos- sible : the criminal may at last be caught, indicted, and imprisoned, but the injured man's lost property is not brought back to him by such a punishment of crime. The civil law will see to it that the railway company whose servants by carelessness kill or maim a passen- ger shall satisfy the lost rights of life or locomotion by a money payment to the injured person or his rep- resentatives ; but, if the criminal law can catch and punish the ruffian who has killed the father of a family, it seems to care nothing for the childi-en of the mur- dered man, who are starving or impoverished by the loss of their bread-winner. Criminal courts, which are meant to be " places wherein justice is judicially admin- istered," do in such ways become very commonly, as the scoffers insist, " places where injustice is judicially administered." Why should it be necessary that such an anomalous feature should mar the fair outlines of human law ? Why should Justice ignore in criminal law that which is her controlling motive in civil law — the wrongs of the injured party ? Is it not possible to make the very punishment of the criminal nearly as close an approx- imation to a satisfaction for the violated individual rights as is usually obtained by the civil law ? It may be that such a change of the point of view would alter some points of the theory of law; but would not the change be for the better ? Very many persons believe intensely and honestly that " the worst use you can put a man to is to hang him " : would not the friends and opponents of capital punishment unite much more readily on a life imprisonment at hard labor for mur- der, with restrictions on the pardoning power, if the proceeds of the hard labor were to go to the murdered person's representatives ? For, after all, the essen- tial injustice of capital punishment is not that it takes away the criminal's forfeited right to life, but that it does so in a way which extinguishes forever the source from which the murdered man's dependents had a moral right to look for recompense for the rights which had been taken from them. In such cases the law, blind, furious, and unreasonmg, destroys the life of the guilty without stopping to consider that it thereby makes the injury to the innocent a hopeless, irreme- diable, permanent injury. Electricity may or may not be a good substitute for the rope : perhaps common sense and even-handed justice might find a better sub- stitute for both. It seems hardly necessary to supplement or reen- force the case of murder : if the point be well taken there, any number of criminal offenses will suggest themselves to the reader in which the proceeds of the criminal's hard labor could be fairly, justly, and well assigned by the sentencing court to the satisfaction of the personal rights which had been injured or destroyed by the crime. Thus the state would still fulfill its func- tion of punishing crime, but would convert that func- tion into a guardianship of the rights of the innocent and the helpless. In very many classes of crimes, the system itself v/ould supply a convenient and accurate measure of punishment. How long shall the criminal serve ? Until the gross proceeds of his labor shall make good the original injury to the individual or the state, with interest. One may fairly believe, moreover, that such a sys- tem would strike at the root of many of the more demagogical objections to the principle of state-prison punishment by hard labor. Many of the labor organi- zations would almost forbid imprisoned criminals to work at all, since the products of their toil must be sold in market in competition with the work of honest men. The public would be much less impressed or assailed by such an argument if it could see that the criminals were in part working for the support of women and children whom they had wronged. And it ought not to be difficult to see reasons why a body of workmen, unwilling to submit to the annoyance of such a com- petition so long as its results were only to dimin- ish the general mass of taxation, should submit to it without objection if its object were justice audits benefi- ciaries those who had been wronged. After all, injus- tice remains injustice, even though it have the hall-mark of law upon it ; and so flagrant an injustice as is tol- erated by our criminal law opens it to attack from unexpected quarters, which it might make secure by substituting justice for injustice. Vol. XXXVIL— 22. OPEN LETTERS. An Open Letter by Mr. George Kennan on a Question of Judgment. To THE Editor of The Century Magazine. Sir : In a letter printed in a recent number of the New York " Commercial Advertiser," under the heading "A Question of Ethics," Mr. Alexander Hutchins of Brook- lyn, N. Y., referring to my article upon Russian political exiles in the August number of The Century Maga- zine, says: "Mr. Kennan's sources of information were not only personal contact with the exiles, but, as he distinctly states, revelations made to him by Rus- sian officers in charge of the exiles. This latter can hardly be overrated for importance, but it is to the reader a very serious ethical question how this revela- tion of confidence is to react on the personal freedom of the officials whose identity is so thinly veiled. In the August Century is the story of his introduction to them by the Russian officer in charge of the station, and his confidential conversation with the officer him- self. Mr. Kennan covers the officer's identity with an assumed name, but any ordinary detective in a police precinct would have no trouble in unearthing him from the tracks given, and the Russian detective office could find him between daylight and dark with the exercise of a little of the powers of arbitrary arrest with which Mr. Kennan himself credits it. Short as is Mr. Ken- nan's story thus far, several of his entertainers, who have given him their hospitality and confidence, could be in Russian dungeons and on their way to remotest Siberia on Mr. Kennan's own testimony. To the reader this looks like the most grievous violation of hospital- ity. It looks greatly like the most cruel of treachery." As Mr. Hutchins may possibly represent a whole class of readers, it is worth while, perhaps, to reply to his open letter. The question involved seems to me to be a question of judgment rather than of ethics. Among the officials who gave me information in Si- beria are men whom I respect and esteem as highly as Mr. Hutchins can possibly respect and esteem any friends of his own. That I would intentionally betray such men to the Russian police and requite their hos- pitality with " cruel treachery," is a supposition that I am sure few readers of The Century will seriously entertain. The only question, therefore, that I can regard as raised by Mr. Hutchins's letter is a question not of ethics but of prudence and discretion. Have I carelessly, recklessly, or through errors of judgment imperiled the safety of persons in Siberia who gave me information ? Mr. Hutchins thinks that I have ; but is he a competent judge ? Has he any means of knowing whether the identity of the " officer " whose words I quote in the August Century is " thinly veiled " or thickly veiled ? Has he any warrant for assuming that a fictitious name is the only screen that I have interposed between the identity of that officer and the eyes of the police ? Where does he find in my article the statement that the officer was " in charge of the station"? Does he know how many officers there are in a garrison town like Semipalatinsk, how many such officers we personally met, and how many of them were upon friendly terms with the political exiles ? Has he any means of estimating the chances of identification in a given case, or the probable re- sults of such identification if established ? Is his judg- ment likely to be better in such a matter than mine ? The best and safest method of utilizing information furnished to me by political exiles and by Russian officials was a subject of serious- and anxious thought long before I returned from Siberia to the United States. It became evident to me at a very early stage of my investigation that prudential considera- tions would necessitate the complete sacrifice of a considerable part of my Siberian material, and would force me to use a still greater part in such a way as to deprive it of half its value and significance. I was for a long time in doubt whether I should not give ficti- tious names to all political exiles and disguise them in such a manner as to render personal identification impossible. To involve my narrative, however, in a maze of mystification and misleading description would greatly impair, I thought, its historical value, and turn it into something little better than a nihilistic novel. I decided, therefore, to use real names in all cases where I could do so without manifestly imperil- ing the safety of the people named ; to adhere as closely as possible to absolute truth and fidelity in questions of time and place ; and to be silent where I could not state facts without compromising persons. This was the course recommended by most of the po- litical exiles whom I consulted. " It is indispensable," said one of them to me, " that you should name us, describe us, and give your im- pressions of us. You are not likely to hurt us. The Government knows all about us already, and we can trust your discretion in the use of what we tell you." The articles that have thus far appeared in The Century have been received, read, and criticised by political exiles in various parts of Siberia, and my at- tention has been called, as yet, to only one imprudent statement. So far as I am aware, no person has been injured by anything that I have written. In the cases of officials, I have been obliged to avoid, to a much greater extent, the use of names, and in a few instances I have employed misleading artifices to conceal identity; but such artifices do not in any way concern an American reader. Every official wham I have quoted or shall have occasion to quote in these papers was perfectly well aware, at the time Mdien he talked with me, that I was obtaining information for use in print. Some of them had a clear and definite understanding with me that the facts communicated should be used in a particular way and with certain specified precautions ; others were satisfied to trust my discretion without conditions ; while a third class gave me information as they would hand me a news- paper containing only a record of facts well known to the whole community. All, without exception, knew what I intended to do with the information that I OPEN LETTERS. 155 sought and obtained. I am now using this information in strict compliance with my agreements, or in accord- ance with my best judgment. I share, of course, the liabiHty to error that is the heritage of mortals ; but I have had ah opportunity to become fairly well ac- quainted with the conditions of Russian life ; I have studied the working methods of the Russian Govern- ment with careful attention ; I have had the benefit of suggestions and advice from the persons in Siberia who are most directly interested in my narrative ; and I am not likely, I think, to make grievous mistakes in the use of the material intrusted to me, or in the adop- tion of means to protect my friends. George Kennan. Sarcasm of Religion in Fiction. That religion and philosophy are getting to be on good' terms, there is no question; one is growing rational and the other is fast becoming religious. Father O'Toole may not be much of a philosopher, and Schopenhauer cannot even by courtesy be regarded as a good Christian ; still the two worlds of faith and reason are fast melting into each other, and — contra- dicting physics — will soon occupy the same space at the same time. Will the same process of mutual ap- proach go on between religion and literature, and the subtle antagonism which has long existed between them fade out into mutual respect ? The religions suspects the litterateur, and the suspicion is more than repaid by contempt. Especially is this so as between religion and fiction. The clergyman and the novelist have much in common, but they do not get on well together : the parson cannot understand the author, and the author makes game of the parson. Will they ever get to be good friends ? The sarcasm of religion in fiction has long been the cause of much complaint and hard feeling. Let us turn the matter over in a few sentences with a view to finding out if it is well or ill. Often this sarcasm is of a mild character, like that found in the Waverley novels, which bears on the rus- ticity and extreme simplicity of clergymen and the extravagance of certain sects. It assumes a more serious type in the novels of Charles Kingsley, where sects and theologies are brought into odious contrast. It is severer still in the works of George Eliot, who treats church and dogma with semi-contempt and often puts clergymen at the farthest remove from respect. In Dickens the whole range is covered — from gen- tlest ridicule, as of the Dean in "Edwin Drood," to stinging contempt, as in Chadband and Stiggins. In MacDonald the same thing is to be found — coupled, however, with such earnestness that it passes beyond sarcasm and becomes protest. The lead of these great authors is followed, and a work of fiction is now the exception in which some question of religious faith or practice is not introduced, and treated, for the most part, with disfavor. If the various churches and creeds were to apportion this criticism they would find but little partiality. The formalism and corruption of the prelatical churches, the dogmatism and austerity of the Puritans, the emotional excesses of the Methodists, the ceremonial emphasis of the Baptists — whatever is most distinctive and conspicuous in all churches has been satirized by fiction. Ridicule and travesty of some form of religious belief or conduct is a part of its stock in trade. The lovers, the catastrophe, the rescue, are not more surely included than is the cari- cature of some opinion, custom, or character called re- ligious. The most notable example is seen in Dickens, both in the severity of his sarcasm and in its perva- siveness. He not only scourges hypocrisy, — for the most part connected with dissenters, — but, in a less open way, the faithlessness of the whole Church to its trust in caring for the degraded masses. Nearly every book of Dickens sends a keen shaft into the body of the national church, yet with ail his courage he did not dare to set up the vices and foibles of the Establish- ment as a target for ridicule ; he stabs it, but not with satire. It may be unfair to criticise an author for what he does not do, but we cannot avoid thinking that Dickens would have left a true exponent of his feelings if he had given the parallels of Stiggins and Chadband to be found in the Established Church, as Thackeray has done in "The Newcomes." In view of the im- mense field from which Dickens drew his characters, it is strange that he overlooked the English type of clergy- man so faithfully drawn by Mr. Curtis in the Rev. Mr. Creamcheese. The Established Church is an ark upon which even Dickens did not venture roughly to lay his hand. Miss Bronte showed a finer courage in her pic- ture of the three Curates, and her works througliout are tinged with slight satire upon traditional forms of religion. We find the same feature in nearly all English and American fiction. Now a sect is ridi- culed en masse, now certain dogmas, now strictness of religious observance or hypocrisy or bigotry or weak-minded conformity. Forms, dogmas, missions, and revivals are treated almost generally with con- tempt. A marked exception is found in Hawthorne. That he entertained opinions which, if he had ex- pressed, would have taken this form, some letters quoted by Mr. Fields indicate ; but whether a vir- tue or not, he withheld his pen from sarcastic treat- ment of religion. The reason is to be found in the superior range of his themes, which are not those of society but of human nature — the abstract rather than the concrete. He is not a Dickens. or a Thackeray, but a Shakspere; his romances are subtle discussions of moral problems that have always vexed the human mind — sin, conscience, and the ways of the bare spirit in man. As a literary artist he could not descend from these heights in order to satirize any special form of faith. Had it come within his purpose to depict a re- ligious hypocrite he would not have connected him conspicuously with any church or creed, but would have kept him within the region of psychology — not as in a church, but simply in human nature. Hence in Hawthorne we find a certain bareness of setting that renders him uninteresting to the average reader. This habit of fiction has, within a few years, changed its objects of attack. First it was sects, then dogmas, now it is certain types of character. Another distinc- tion of the later period is that untrutli is treated more severely than fanaticism. Weakness, inconsistency, hypocrisy, are scourged while intensity of belief is comparatively respected. The habit cannot be ex- plained as a trick of the profession, caught by the many from the chance example of the masters ; the originality of genius forbids such an explanation. Nor can it be accounted for on the ground of its 156 OPEN L-ETTERS. availability ; it probably tells quite as much against an author as for him, especially in England, where anything like irreligion is unpopular. Nor can it be referred to sectarianism. There is a second-rate class of writers who produce novels in the interest of some church or theology which they bring into favorable relief by very dark shadows thrown upon the opposite side, but they are hardly accorded a place in literature. We cannot recall a work of fiction of the first class in which a character is held up as admirable by virtue of his connection with any church or of holding a definite creed. Such characters are presented for the opposite feeling — certainly not for the readers' sym- pathy. The solution is largely to be found in the fact that religion, when organized under either forms or dogmas, awakens antagonism in the peculiar genius of the novelist. We qualify our phrase because genius of the purest type is to be found in connection with church and creed. No critic would withhold the name from Augustine, Luther, Wesley, John Henry New- maUj Robertson, Stanley, and Bushnell. But it is hard to get pc^ts and novelists within church-doors. No reminiscence of Wordsworth more widely separates him from his class than that of his every Sunday walk over Nab Scar to little St. Oswald's in Grasmere. And Miss Bronte spoke both for herself and for all kindred genius in that exquisite chapter in " Shirley " where she makes Caroline Helstone refuse to enter the church, preferring to remain without and watch na- ture at her evening prayers. The genius of the novelist, like that of the poet, is impatient of form and defini- tion and organization. Bemg based on the imagina- tion, and therefore ideal in its operations, it does not consort well with what is fixed and formal. It may use facts and forms, but the argument it enforces is ideal and outside of them. Hence the staple of fiction is love before marriage, or lawless love after it, when it has the liberty of perfecting itself in the imagina- tion— not love after marriage or in true marriage, when the dream is over and fancy yields to fact. Hence established institutions, whether social, ethical or religious, have seldom been directly strengthened by fiction. It may be doubted if any established gov- ernment was ever positively helped by imaginative writers ; the sympathy is made to turn against what is, and in favor of what may be. The drift is in favor of spontaneousness and excess of liberty, against social custom and settled thought. In the end it may not be unfavorable to social and moral order, but this end is reached through loosening and destructive criticism. It ungirds, but does not find it within its function to rebind. Mrs. Stowe depicts the evils of slavery and hastens a political revolution, but as a literary artist she cannot, in fiction, reconstruct the government. Charles Kingsley in " Alton Locke " helps on reform, but only as an antagonist of the existing order. Dickens reveals the horrors of a school system and turns the laughter of the world against the courts of chancery, but he felt no call to picture a well-or- dered school or a prompt court of justice. So far as fiction has any vocation Vjesides that of pleasing, it is critical, and it criticises by depicting that which it deems false and unworthy and by suggesting ideals of perfection, not by portraying excellence already gained. When the latter is attempted, the work is tame and flavorless. Were a literary artist to write a political novel, he would compose it of two leading elements — criticism of existing institutions and sug- gestion of a better order; actual evil against ideal good. Fiction, by its nature, has its standpoint in ideality. Its lifeiikeness, whether of good or evil, is based on an ideal beyond the fact. Otherwise it. would be mere rehearsal of statistics, or philosophy. And just here we find an explanation of its treatment of religion. It cannot be set down to the irreligion of the authors : whether irreligious or not, the cause lies back of the artist and in the nature and function of the art itself. If religion has seemed to suffer at the hands of fiction, it has suffered in the company of morals, of domestic life, of social order and all other conservative interests, and for the same reason. The question of the utility of this criticism is an- other matter. That it causes pain and awakens con- cern in the minds of many who have a just claim to be regarded because they represent the best interests of society, there is no doubt. When a member of a not obscurely hinted sect is portrayed as a disgusting hyp- ocrite, or when a hero — as in " Felix Holt" — is made to turn his back upon the Church and all religious observance and Christian belief and is offered to the reader's admiration by reason of virtues developed aside from or in opposition to Christianity, it is gen- erally felt to be an affront or an injury. The sect is hurt through its representative ; the faith is slighted by the halo thrown around its contemner. Doubtless much sensibility is wounded and direct moral injury is wrought, for no one will soberly maintain that it is well to weaken the hold of religious institutions upon the people unless they become so perverted as to min- ister to positive immorality. But just here two things should be remembered: one is, that all criticism is dangerous in its very nature, and most of all ideal criticism, for it means change, and that means risk; the other is, that in high fiction that for the most part is scourged which deserves it, and that notes of warning are sounded where there is most need of care or reform. We do not defend all fiction that treats of religion, nor do we refer to that ephem- eral literature, now so abundant, which is dictated by simple hatred arid ignorance ; but only say that in the masters of fiction the objects of their criticism in relig- ion are generally well chosen. They may be summed up as hypocrisy, weakness, fanaticism, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. When dogmas are introduced, it is not their bare essence that is held up to scorn, but a perversion of them that renders the character con- temptible. It is the frequency with which religion runs into hypocrisy and dogmas lead to bigotry — producing a type of character specially available in fiction — that leads to their general use. If a novelist would draw a hypocrite he must place him upon a Back- ground of religion, else his picture lacks shading; as Othello's jealousy .requires the purity of Desdemona. So a religious fanatic, in fiction must be put into ec- clesiastical garb ; otherwise he has no form or setting. But it were hasty to conclude that the writer intends to deride the opinions his hypocrite assumes, or that the sect with which he connects his fanatic is contemp- tible. Nearly the most odious character drawn by Dickens is Uriah Heep, but. no one suspects that he intends to slur humility. Walter Scott often ridicules preachers, but himself wrote two very good sermons. OPEN LETTERS. 157 Nearly all the misconstruction put upon this literary habit is due to the fact that the rules of the art do not allow of explanation or qualification. The first object of the novelist is to awaken sensation in the reader. Hence he must be concrete, rapid, excessive ; he must draw with bold outline and upon dark background ; he cannot indulge in parenthetical explanation nor ask his readers to tone down his coloring. But what the novelist cannot do, his readers must do for him ; they must translate his semi-drama into an essay if they would come at his exact meaning. Still the question of utility recurs. To explain the writer is not necessarily to justify the writing. It is difficult to strike the balance between good and evil in any great human influence ; we see the beginnings but not the ends. The farther off in time we get from leading causes, the plainer it becomes that they work towards a general harmony ; that which promised only evil becomes a check upon the perversions of what is counted good, or a spur to yet higher good. In mor- als, as in nature, the system is one of action and re- action, check and counter-check. We must not hastily reject the criticism of that genius which partakes rather of inspiration than of learning, of insight than of logic. The teachers of the world are not those who enforce precedents, but those who unfold eternal principles. It must be granted that the best fiction, in the main, turns attention from what is false and formal in religion to what is true and essential : however destructive the process, this is the result. Religion, whether under ecclesiastical or dogmatic forms, requires for its own good the keenest and severest criticism. No tendency runs to speedier ultimation than does that of the Church to formalism, of dogma to bigotry, of pledged morality to hypocrisy. Good in themselves, they only continue to be such through the greatest care within and the most watchful criticism without. Our highest faculties and our best conditions are most liable to perversion. The vice of the world is not irreligion, but the divorce of religion from morality ; and the tendency, lying in human nature, shows itself in Christianity with more stubbornness because of its perfect standards. Nor is it free from this tendency because it has shaken off medieval superstition and puritanic narrowness. It still needs the watchful care of its own teachers, and it must still accept the rougher and less discriminating criticism of secular literature. Together they will not be more than able to resist a tendency which history teaches as one of its plainest lessons. And if the crit- icism of fiction — shaped by the rules of its art — takes on the forms of sarcasm, caricature, exaggeration, and general excess, it is still to be accepted, if not with en- tire composure, yet with the belief that, in the end, it subserves the interests of the hope of mankind. T. T. M linger. How Cuban Dances become German Students' Songs, and American Ditties become Italian Mountaineers' Melodies. Sitting on the piazza, one hot summer's afternoon, at my seaside resort in New Hampshire, I saw two Italian pipers trudging along the road — veritable///^ ferari they looked like, with legs bandaged up to the knee, cross-gartered, and covered with dust. Halloo ! I said to myself, here is a chance to note down some- thing fresh from the Tyrol ; and as they prepared to play right in front of me I took out pencil and paper and noted down the tune. My disappointment can be imagined when I found with the exception of the opening eight or ten bars the tune was " Climbing up the Golden Stairs." These fellows had evidently picked up this popular air from hearing the bands at summer hotels play it and moon- light banjo parties sing it ; and I have no doubt the pipers have by this time returned to their native land and that the tune will soon return to us as a veritable Italian melody. One fellow played the melody on a kind of oboe, and the other accompanied him on a sort of bagpipe. This incident made quite an impression upon me ; for a little while previous, after playing my own ar- rangement of a Cuban dance, I was asked by a dis- tinguished New York musical critic why I called it " Cuban," when it was a popular German students' song. Not having seen the notes of the German version, I have no means of knowing whether the two melodies are identical, or merely resemble each other, but have no doubt that my Cuban air has been exported or im- ported in much the same way that the " Golden Stairs " were "climbing." Richard Hoffman. " The University and the Bible." Dartmouth College adopted last year a course of Bible study very similar to that suggested by the Rev. T. T. Munger in his article upon " The University and the Bible " in The Century for September, it being the first American college, I believe, to make such study a part of its curriculum. The system is en- tirely apart from compulsory attendance at church and chapel services, which is required as before. The course is systematically arranged, and each subject is presented by an instructor competent to treat it in the spirit of advanced scientific thought. In regard to its scope, I quote from the college catalogue for 1887-88 : For the present, the subject in freshm.an year is the historic origin of the Bible ; in sophomore year, New Testament history; in junior year, the development of the Church as exhibited in the Acts ; in senior year. Old Testament history, from the creation to the entrance into Palestine, with special reference to the inspiration and historic and scientific relations of the Scriptures. At present, but one hour in each week is devoted to this course; but it is intended shortly to develop and extend it. Every student is required to attend these exercises, audit is necessary to maintain as high a stand- ard of scholarship as in other studies in order to obtain a degree. The aim of the trustees in recommending such a course of study, so far as I know it, was precisely the same as Mr. Munger's idea — to meet the student's increase of culture and critical knowledge with a pres- entation of Bible truths, in their scientific as well as in their religious aspects. In view of the present atti- tude of the university to the Bible, this was certainly a very advanced position to take, and I am glad to be able to state that the experiment has thus far succeeded ad- mirably. From the first there was no such opposition on the part of alumni and friends of the college as Mr. Munger would seem to apprehend. Upon the students the effect is already manifest in an increased 158 BRIC-A-BRAC. respect for the Bible and a deeper interest in its study. The development of this system at Dartmouth will cer- tainly be hopefully watched by all who are interested in this important problem. Andover, Massachusetts. Nezvton M. Hall. I HAVE had much pleasure in reading Mr. Hun- ger's article on " The University and the Bible," the more, I suppose, as I have found it to express so well my own convictions (i) that a common worship should be part of the common life of a college, and (2) that no college education can be called complete which does not put the student in the way of knowing how thought- ful men are looking at the really great problems of the day, including the consideration of the Bible and of Christianity "as facts and by the scientific method." But I write not to say this alone, — for it might be well reckoned an impertinence, — but to offer from my own experience testimony in support of what Mr. Munger has written. In our college curriculum one hour in each week's work of each class is devoted to what is called the de- partment of religious instruction, which includes the reading of parts of the Greek Testament, the study of the history and the literature of the Scriptures, and the examination of the Christian evidences. It has fallen to my lot, for not a few years, to study with the sopho- mores the history of the Old Testament. This has been done, not as a part of theology nor for homiletic purposes, but as the study of a history possessing great interest both intrinsically and relatively. Of course in some twenty recitations or lectures — for the work of each hour unites both methods — the history cannot be studied with minuteness of detail; but I do not think Trinity College, Hartford, Conn. that any great question in regard to it has been ignored or that any real difficulty has been left unnoticed. The young men have been introduced to the problems which are interesting scholars in regard, e. g., to the composition of the Pentateuch, the interpretation of^ its earlier parts, the question as to the introduction of allegory and of poetry into the historical narrative, the development and growth of the nation of Israel, and the connection of its history with that of other nations. I have not thought it necessary — if indeed it were honest — to conceal my own opinion on some of the questions raised, or to confess my ignorance in regard to others. But I have chiefly endeavored to impress upon the young men, in connection with the more purely historical part of the work,.(i) something as to the way in which the Old Testament may be studied scientifically with the single desire of learning the truth about it and from it ; (2) that fidelity to what we find to be true cannot possibly be irreligious or inichristian, and that they have in no way denied the truth of the Scriptures if they have honestly accepted one rather than another of the interpretations given to many of the passages in it ; and (3) that it is not at all strange that there should be many questions raised which can- not be easily answered at once, and some questions the answer to which must be left to future generations. If I may presume to judge of the effect of this study, I have no hesitation in saying that it is in many ways very wholesome, very useful, and not lacking in inter- est.. And I can well believe that in the hands of a wise and learned instructor such a course of study as that which Mr. Munger suggests would be one of the most valuable parts of a college curriculum. Samuel Hart. BRIC-A-BRAC. Seeing Ourselves as Others See Us. "T^ WOULD be a dangerous gift, O potent fay ! i. Whatever feather-headed poets say. To stand outside and see our various selves As we are seen — by mortals and by elves. Within a certain woodland's blessed shade There dwells a star-eyed, red-lipped little maid, Whose glance so arch, so altogether tender. Would bring a whole battalion to surrender. By twice ten thousand promises she 's mine ; But did she know her beauty so divine, Could she but see — as I — the grace that 's in her, There 'd be no longer hope for this poor sinner. And had I seen, ere winning this fair creature. My monstrous ugliness, in form and feature. As her discarded lovers notv do view it, I never would have had the face to do it. The Smile of Mephistopheles. "All evil souls to live in hell " ; thus ran The stern decree. But when Mephisto fell, For the arch-fiend, arch-punishment : his ban Must be that he shall like to live in hell. The Smile of The Vicar. If you would put it utterly to rout. Tell him a grief that your heart has unnerved. If you would bring its finest sweetness out, Crush him with sorrow he has not deserved. The Smile of Olivia. It makes the world a rare and gracious place To dwell in ! Yet we need not greatly care To keep forever on that laughing face The radiance of a joy so debonair ; Because this lady in bewildering gowns Is every bit as charming when she frowns. Elizabeth P. Allan. A. W. R. BRIC-A-BRAC. 159 O you Fellers in th' City. TO J. W. R. O YOU fellers in th' city, Think you got it awful fine, An' you grow consummit witty Ez you say how you repine Fur atrip into th' ken try Whur everything is green, Especially th' gentry — Th' kentry folk, you mean. Hard-tack and bacon, candles and soap, Coffee and sugar, beans, and hope Of solid comfort, were sheltered over by its canvas cover ; Or sacks of grain and bales of hay, or whatever may Have fed a horse, or stopped the bray of the musical mule ; Or ammunition, of any description, for our guns (Guns big or little) ; or tent and kettle ; all the traps For "shoulder-straps " might fill the wagons that Got to camp the very night we had not a bite to eat. I ain't hed much experiment With ways o' city folk; But atween th' hot brick pavement An' th' clouds o' dust an' smoke An' the noise o' squawlin' huckster, Ez shore 'z th' day my birth I think it 's jes a picter O' th' devil's home on earth. I like t' take a quiet walk. An' watch th' bumble-bee Go buzzin' in a hollyhock, An' tumble 'roun' tel he Gits yaller with th' golden dus'. An' s' lazy he falls down, But gits his wings a-flyin' jes Afore he strikes th' groun'. I like t' set down on th' grass. My back agin a tree. An' watch th' lazy water pass (It seems thet way t' me) — Pass down an' through th' medder In th' crookedest o' ways, Tel it runs into th' river An' there I guess it stays. It beat the nation, — many a ration; how it pleased the rebels To capture a train ! We did not complain for a sutler's wagon If the " Johnnies " got it, — and him with it, — because We did not need it and would not heed it ; but the " sinews of war " We could not spare, and sometimes a fight for the wagon-train Won the battle, or a whole campaign. If ever infantry, all tired out, scoffed at cavalry, on the rout, (Who covered their front and flank and rear, and it did not appear How troopers rode while they slumbered, and, often outnumbered, They fought, far away from support, or even hearing. Of the main force) ; and if, as, of course, they resent- ingly Would retort unrelentingly, and if the battery folks Let off their jokes at both — all welcomed each other On the line of battle; and all hailed the rattle of the wheels Of the six-mule wagon, the big blue wagon, the Gov- ernment wagon ! When work is finished fur th' day, An' eatin' 's finished, too, I like t' smell th' clover-hay 'At 's moistened with th' dew, An' watch th' leaves a-movin' In a sort o' sleepy way That 's most confounded soothin' ; An' then I seem t' say : *' I 'm sorry fur you city chaps, Like birds kept in a cage Thet tries t' fly but only flaps The'r wings agin th' edge; But so bein' you city gentry Likes city things th' best, Ef I kin hev th' kentry, Why, you kin hev th' rest." Richard D. Lang. The Army W^agon. The army wagon, the big blue wagon, the six-mule wagon, the U. S. wagon. Was blessed or was cursed, as the best or the worst Thing a soldier could welcome — or wait for. It brought his "grub," or, up to the hub, fast in the mud It stuck in the road and blocked the whole train, While we camped with no supper, and — blessed (?) it in vain. Why ? It meant ammunition, forage, and rations ; Supplies of all sorts — boots and trousers, shirts and blouses. New tents and blankets, hats and shoes ; And the longed-for news from home came in the mail That reached the front with the wagon- train. Oh, yes ! we all hailed the wagons' coming, filled, Unless we had to stop to build a bridge; or chop And carry poles to fill mud-holes ; or pry out wheels ; Or wade the slush to pile in brush ; or, in the rush, Shoulder fence-rails and logs to make "corduroy." Were this an ode (by poets' rules), it were not for mules, but For wagons ; yet mules had to be there, " wheelers," " swing team," And "leaders " ; and if any of the six should get out of fix You would hear from the army teamster, — hear from him, anyhow ! Ah ! you called him " mule-whacker " ; begged his to- bacco (or stole it) ; Sometimes you poked fun at the man with no gun ; but, then, You cannot forget that, though sorely beset, he seldom yet Failed to reach camp, some time before morning. With the big blue wagon, the white-covered wagon, the United States Government army wagon ! C. S. Iirann. i6o BRIC-A-BRAC. A Supposition. "Suthin' in the pastoral line." Lowell. He had been trying all the winter through To speak the fateful words ; and well she knew He had been trying — but what could she do? Most maidenly of little maids was she, With childlike horror that such thing could be As that a woman could be " fast " or "free." And just because he did adore her so, His tongue would stammer, and his voice would go. At bare idea of a possible "No." He had a friend, a learned young professor, Him he had constituted his confessor, And general moral ganger and assessor. To him were told the maiden's simple wiles, Her pretty blushes and beguiling smiles, In many words, and various moods and styles. The swain would boast him to the little maid, When he of other subjects was afraid. Of all the learning that his friend displayed. And so, one evening, when it chanced that she Was bidden to an " evening company," She went, with hope this paragon to see. And he was there ; so, too, her bashful swain. Who, strangely, did not help her to attain The introduction which she hoped to gain. For he had suddenly grown sore afraid That a professor of so high a grade Would straight supplant him with his little maid. She waited long, and then, — most hardily For one who thought that maids should not be "free,"— " Will you present me to your friend ? " said she. Now was his chance ! Fiercely his pulses ham- mered. She 'd surely hear his heart, so loud it clamored ; "I — can't present you — you 're not mine! " he stammered. "And if you were " — now, that he had begun. His courage rose — " I 'd keep you, dearest one ! " *' Always?" she murmured. "Always!" It was done ! ]\Iarga7'et Van de grift. Squire Hobbs's Precepts. We never thoroughly know a man until we hear him laugh. Despair is the gateway to insanity. Argument will pull a wise man down to the level of a fool, but it never raises a fool up to the plane of a wise man. Fame, like lightning, generally strikes the man who is not expecting it. Originality is the faculty of adapting an old idea to a new occasion. When a man ventures an opinion he will find some one who opposes it. Hence a man without opposi- tion is a man without opinions. ^A^hile the Clock Strikes. AT A CARD-PARTY. Hostess. — Do stop playing a moment! I want you to hear what a beautiful tone my new clock has. • Players. — Yes, do let 's stop to hear the clock' strike ! We can wdiisper. The clock strikes one. Young Bhmt to Miss D. — If I may begin the whis- pering. Miss D., you are looking unusually handsome to-night. Miss D. — Yes, but that does not entitle you to hold my hand, Mr. Blunt. The clock strikes tivo. Old Mrs. A. — How strangely young Mr. Blunt is blushing. What can be the cause ? Old Mr. A. — Don't you see? The proximity of a flirt. The clock strikes three. Mr. Z. to yoipig Mrs. Z. — Dear! your hand is so soft to-night. You don't mind my holding it under the table, do you ? Young Mrs. Z. — Holding it under the table? I don't understand you. The clock strikes four. Miss D. to young Blunt. — Dear Mr. Blunt, really you must release me now. Some one will see us. Young Blunt. — There is some mistake. I never held a hand in my life — except at whist. The clock strikes five. Old Mrs. A. — Mr. Blunt is blushing more than ever. Do offer an explanation. Old Mr. ^.— W>ll^pMiss D. has asked him to marry her. . The clock strikes six. Yoiirig Blunt to Mrs. Z. — I have such a joke! Somebody is holding Miss D.'s hand, and she thinks it's I. Young Mrs. Z. — Oh, dear, who can it be ? The clock strikes seven. Hostess to Daughter. — Why is Mrs. Z. making such unearthly faces at her husband ? The Daicghter. — Is n't his cravat coming off? The clock strikes eight. Mrs. Z. to Mr. Z. — For Heaven's sake, Henry, drop my hand ! It is n't mine, it 's Miss D.'s. Mr. Z. — Saints and martyrs ! The clock strikes nine. Aff-s. Z. urbanely to Miss D. — How nice and warm your hand was, my dear. Miss D. — Nice and warm ? — Why, it was you, then ! The clock strikes ten. Old Mrs. A. — Now Miss D. is blushing too. What can it all be about ? Old Mr. /4. — Young Blunt has told her he 's sorry, but his heart is another's. The clock strikes eleven. Miss D. to young Blunt. — I take it all back, Mr. Blunt. I forgot that you dislike jokes. Yomtg Bhmt. — Ha ! ha ! I like them first rate. Only I thought you were in earnest, you know. Miss D. — Oh, how stupid ! The clock strikes twelve. Hostess (aloud).— i:\\Qx^\ Confess that you never lieard quite such a clock. All (aloud). — Oh, we never did! So silvery! And so slow I (The playing goes on again.) Xenos Clark. THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRmTERS, NEW YORK. The Century Magazine. Vol. XXXVII. DECEMBER, 1888. No. 2. THE COMING OF WINTER. NE year's occupation of a quar- ter-section of wild land means but a slight foothold in a new country — a cabin, rude as a magpie's nest; a crop of wild hay, if the settler is near a river- bottom ; the tools and stock he brought with him ; a few chickens not yet acclimated ; a few seeds and slips from the last home ; probably a new baby. Now that the wild-geese are beginning to fly, a chance shot may furnish a meal, where every meal counts. The young wife holds the baby's blanket close to its exposed ear to deaden the report of the gun. She is not so sure of the marksman's aim as she would have been a year before she married him. He is one of an uncertain crop of husbandmen that springs up quickly on new soil, but nowhere strikes deep roots. The prettiest girl of his native village, some- where in the South-west, will have fancied him, and have consented to take her place be- side him on the front seat of his canvas-topped wagon when the inevitable vague westward im- pulse seized him. As the miles lengthen behind them and " their garments and their shoes be- come old by reason of the long journey," she will lose her interest in the forward outlook and spend more and more of her time among the bedquilts and hen-coops in the rear of the wagon, half asleep, or v.^atching listlessly the plains they crawl across and the slow rise and fall of the strange hills they climb. When the settlers stop, it is not because they have reached the place to which they meant to go, but because they have found a sheltered valley with water and wild grass. The wagon Copyright, 1888, by The Cent needs mending, they and their cattle are tired. While they rest, they build a rude cabin, the baby is born, summer has passed. It is too late to move that winter. The home-seeker, with all the West before him, will be wary of the final choice which costs him the freedom of the road. He is like a child in a great toy-shop full of -iiigh-priced, re- motely imaginable joys, and with but a single penny in his pocket. So long as he nurses the penny unspent he is the potential possessor ; a man of much wider scope, much larger re- sources, than the actual possessor. Birds in the bush that beckon and call are not of the same species as the bird that lies tamely in hand. Teamsters, toiling across the great lava beds, on their way to the mountain mining-towns, make camp near the cabin in the willow-brake, sit by the settler's fire, and their talk is the large talk of the men of the road — of placer claims on the rivers far to the north, where water is plentiful all the year ; of the grass, how rich and tall it grows in Long Valley, and how few stock-men with their herds have got into that region as yet. The settler's eye is brilliant as he listens. He is losing time; he yearns for the spring, and the dawn of new chances. But he is a restless, not a resolved man, and with spring come back the birds of promise, the valley rings with their music, the seeds are up in the garden, and the baby is learning to walk. Out of the poorest thousand in Manasseh was Gideon chosen. It may be that the child, so soon escaping out of the languid mother's arms, may be one of the mighty men in the new country where his parents waited to rest aAvhile before moving farther on. # * # URY Co. All ridits reserved. DUCCIO. (born about 1260, DIED ABOUT 134O.) HE history of one of the best painters of the beginning of the Itahan renaissance is almost Hm- ited to the evidence in his works. Who his master was is conject- ural ; but that he belonged to a vigorous school, of which he was, as was Cima- bue of the Florentine, a progressive pupil, is clear. We have the same tradition of his Ma- donna being carried in triumphal procession to the Duomo from the painter's workshop {bot- tega); we have his name in contracts, and know something of the conditions of his work- ing ; but of the work itself we have only one panel of settled authenticity — the Madonna which was carried to the Duomo with honor, and one other, accepted as his by the most au- thoritative opinions and now in the National Gallery at London. But the " Documents for the History of Sienese Art" of Milanesi disclose a state of the arts at Siena of which we have no evidence in Florence; for while in the latter place the Byzantine painters were succeeded practically by Giotto, only the few pupils of Cimabue intervening in the record and no such organization appearing as we find at Siena, we have the written constitution of a guild of painters dated only a few years after Duccio's death, showing that art was probably more earnestly cultivated and patronized in the lat- ter than in the former city. The crown of Si- ena's civic prosperity antedates that of her great Tuscan rival and ultimate conqueror, and in the days of which we are now examin- ing the record Florence was in the humilia- tion and exhaustion of the greatest defeat of her history. There is a constitution of the " Art of Sien- ese Painters" of the date 1355, which is evi- dently the codification of the laws under which the school had worked and grown up, and which, as a picture of the spirit of the art of that day, is worth translating. It opens with a solemn invocation : In the beginning, in the midst, and in the end of doing and saying our order is in the name of tiie omnipotent God and of his Virgin Mother our Lady Saint Mary. Amen. Therefore we are, by the grace of God, shewers to common men, who are ignorant of letters, of the miraculous things done by virtue and virtue of the holy faith ; and our f:iith is chiefly founded in worshiping and believing in one God in Trinity and in God and [his] infinite power and infinite wisdom and infinite love and mercy : and no thing, however little, can have beginning or end without these three things; viz., without power and with- out knowledge and without will with love. And because in God is the sum of all perfection, there- fore, in this our however small business, in order that we may have a certain inspiration of good be- ginning and good end in all our sayings and doings, with great desire we call for the aid of the Divine grace, and we begin our invocation with honor of, and in the name of, the most Holy Trinity. And because spiritual things ought to be, and are, ex- cellently before and preciously above temporal, we begin by declaring how we celebrate our feast of the venerable and glorious master Saint Luke, who was not only the designer [figuratore'] of the stat- ure and mien of the glorious Virgin Mary, but was writer of her most holy life and of her most holy customs, whence is our art honored. Then follow the laws of the guild, beginning with the ordinance for the observance of the Feast of St. Luke and of the mutual obliga- tion of the members and their rights and duties. One runs thus : And we order that no one of the art of painters shall dare or presume to put in the work which he may do other gold, or silver, or color than that which he shall have promised : as, for instance, gold half fine for fine, tin for silver, German blue for ultramarine blue, biadetto or indigo for blue, terra rosa or red lead for vermilion ; and who contravenes in the said matters shall, be punished and condemned ten pounds for every offense. Every member was held to rigid obedience to the rector, and the laws relating to good faith and honest dealing with each other and with customers were most stringent. The se- crets of the guild were kept, under severe pen- alties. It was in this guild that Duccio learned his trade. In 1308 was executed the agreement be- tween Duccio and Jacopo of Siena, son of Gilberto Mariscotti, head-master of the Duomo, for the painting of the picture still there. Ja- copo of one part, and Duccio, son of the late Buoninsegna, of the other, agree as follows : That the said Duccio shall accept from the said master, for painting, a certain picture [panel] to be put on the high altar of the greater church of Saint Mary of Siena. . . . First, that said Duccio prom- ises and agrees with said master Jacopo, etc., to paint and execute said picture to the best of his knowl- edge and ability and as God may permit him, and to work continuously on said picture such time as he may be able to work on the same, and not to ac- cept or receive any other work to be done until this THE INCREDULITY OF ST. THOMAS. (Detail from a small panel painting. Opera del Duomo, Siena.) DUCCIO. 167 picture shall be completed and made. But said Jacopo promises to give and pay said Duccio for his salary at said work and labor \operis et laboreru] sixteen soldi of Sienese money for each day which said Duccio may work with his hands on the said pic- ture, except that if he should lose any day there shall be deducted from the said salary according to the time lost ; that said master holds and promises to give said Duccio this salary in this manner: for each month which said Duccio may work on said picture to give said Duccio ten pounds in current silver money and the remainder of said salary to be counted in silver money, which the same Duccio is held to give to the work of St. Mary above men- tioned. Item. — The said master workman promises in the above-mentioned name to furnish and give all things which may be necessary for working on said picture, so that said Duccio shall be obliged to give nothing except himself and his labor. The agreement then goes on to prescribe the penalties for failure to observe all its con- ditions ; and in addition Duccio, for greater se- curity, " swore voluntarily on the holy Gospel of God, touching the book bodily, to observe and comply with all and singular in good faith and without fraud in and for all things as above contained." The picture — or rather pictures, for it in- cludes a Madonna and Child on one side of the panel and on the other a series of small designs from the life of Christ — occupied, according to the chroniclers, three years, and cost over 3000 golden florins; but as the contract was signed on the 9th of October, 1308, and the picture was carried to the Duomo June 9, 13 10, it is diffi- cult to see on what evidence they assign this period, as the dates definitely stated make an interval of 20 months. TliQ/esfa of the trans- portation to the Duomo from the workshop of Duccio was memorable. The Sienese chroni- cler Tura del Grasso says that it " was the most beautiful picture ever seen or made, and cost more than three thousand golden florins." Another, Bondene, says Duccio painted this picture in three years, and every day "made festa," — all festas begin with worship, hence our term "hohday " and the Italian fesfa (from Lsitm /as^a, sacred or fortunate); and this aflu- sion to Duccio's festas evidently means that he began every day with worship, — and Sundays he went "in great devotion [with great cere- mony] to the Duomo," his ordinary daily de- votions being probably performed in the Chapel of St. Luke. An anonymous manuscript in the library of Siena, quoted by Milanesi, has the follow- ing account of the picture : And in the same time and by the aforesaid Sig- niory it was provided to make the picture of the high altar, and that which now stands on the altar of St. Boniface, which is called the Madonna of the big eyes and Madonna of thanks [del/e gra^i'e], was taken away. Now this Madonna was that which was vowed by the people of Siena when the Flor- entines were broken and defeated at Monte Aperto ; and in this manner was changed the said picture, because the new one was made which is much more beautiful and devout and larger, and has at the back the Old and New Testament. And in the day that it was carried to the Duomo the shops were shut and the Bishop ordered a great and devout company of priests and friars with a solemn procession, ac- companied by the Signiory of nine and all the func- tionaries of the Commune and all the people ; and hand in hand all the most notable were near the picture with lighted candles in their hands, and then came the women and children with great devotion and accompanied the said picture as far as the Duomo, making the procession around the church, as is the custom, ringing the bell with full peals with rever- ence for so noble a picture as is this. This picture is by Duccio, son of Niccola, painter (he was son of Buoninsegna), and was made in the house of Muciatti outside the gate of Stalloregi. And all those days he went to prayers with much alms to the poor, pray- ing God and his Mother, who is our Advocate, to defend us by his infinite pity from every disaster and evil and protect us from the hands of traitors and enemies of Siena. Another contract shows that Duccio was to be paid two and a half florins in gold for each of the little pictures at the back of the great Madonna, thirty-eight in number. But in 1 285 a contract had been made between Duccio and the rectors for the brotherhood of St. Mary of Florence providing for a picture for this chapel in Santa Maria Novella, the conditions of which contract are such as to indicate that he was then yet on trial, as might well be the case, he being probably not above twenty -five years of age. These conditions are that the painter is- " to paint and ornanient said picture with the figure of the blessed Virgin Mary and her om- nipotent Son, and other figures at the will and pleasure of the society, and to gild and do all and singular other things which appertain to the beauty of said picture at his own charge and expense"; and that if the picture shall satisfy the society the painter shall receive one hun- dred and fifty Httle florins of gold, and if not " beautiful and elaborate to their pleasure " Duccio is to keep the picture himself This tes- timony to his reputation in the city of Cimabue and at so early a period in his fife, while it does not in the conditions of the contract determine that he was a proved workman in the eyes of the Florentines, is sufficient evidence that his fame, even in those days, was that of a rival of the master of Giotto. The picture painted for Santa Maria Novefla is lost, but appears to have satisfied the brotherhood. Tliat in Siena, while prescribing the general character of the Byzantine type so far as the Madonna and Child are concerned, has in the heads of the angels surrounding her a perception of the ideal which is more allied to antique art than DUCCIO, 169 anything else I know of that epoch, and re- minds one of the work of Niccola Pisano, whose influence Duccio must have felt strongly, as Niccola came to Siena in 1266 to 1268, when Duccio was still a boy — if born, as is conject- ured, about 1260. Of his death, as of his birth, we know noth- ing. He appears for the first time in authentic record in his contract for Santa Maria Novella, and last in a notice of some work done in 1320. The color of his great Madonna is akin to that of the works of the Florentine contemporary school, and shows clearly that a common canon had been the foundation of both schools; and if the remains justify a comparison I should say that the work of Duccio shows more originality of design in his story pictures. But we must remember that for the Madonna and the more important sacred personages the fixed sacred types were imperative, and that less of Duccio's greatness would be seen in such subjects than in those in which precedent was less rigorous, as in the Scripture stories at the back of the panel. I have little hesitation indeed in saying that in most of the qualities by which Giotto has attained the position assigned him as a reno- vator of art Duccio rivaled him, and possibly surpassed him in some. How far the subse- quent domination of Florence resulted in the neglect or destruction of the works of the mas- ters of the great rival school of Siena we can only conjecture; of the fact that little remains of its early masters we are unfortunately only too sure. Did we possess as, full a representa- tion of the work of Duccio as we do of that of Giotto, we might be compelled to give " the cry " to the former. The twenty-six small pic- tures in the Siena panel have the dramatic power of Giotto with a grave tenderness of expression which is seen in but few of the Florentine painter's pictures, and one of Mr. Cole's selections — the Marys at the tomb — was a classic in the later days, serving as type of the treatment of the subject. There is nothing to show that in his extraor- dinary understanding of perspective Giotto was not alone, nor can we find the evidence in what we have of Duccio's work of such amaz- ing intellectual range and power as Giotto's. In perspective the Florentine seems to have had an inspiration, for in his time the science of perspective had no development such as we find in his works ; his feeling for it and accuracy in it are, apparently, exceptional. Duccio does not show them : see, for instance, the feet of St. Thomas in the engraving, the nearer foot being that which should be the farther ; a fault that no student of the figure in his first year could commit to-day. In the position of Christ in the same picture note the manner in which he is shown to be suspended in the air, the recess being made for the sake of the step, against the perpendicular side of which we see Christ's feet. We owe to Charles Fairfax Murray, the Eng- lish painter and connoisseur, the removal of the Duccios from the cathedral, where a satisfac- tory sight of them was impossible, to the mu- seum of the Opera, where they can be perfectly well seen and studied. W. J. Stillmaji. NOTES BY TIMOTHY COLE, ENGRAVER. FLORENCE, September 13, 1887.— I should like to write particularly of the artist Duccio, or rather of his work, which has really fascinated me and held me in thralldom for the past few months. His marvel- ous subtilties are now discoverable, sincehehas emerged from his long obscurity in the Duomo to the excellent light of the Opera del Duomo. When away from Duccio I have sometimes wondered whether the high qualities that I was attributing to him were not a little of my own making, and this thought added gusto to my next visit. But I am convinced now that he can- not be praised too highly, and in fact each time that I come away from him it is with a sublimer idea of the man. He is strength and ineffable tenderness artlessly combined, but he must be seen and studied to be be- lieved in. No artist should be without photographs of his works ; and here let me add that Lombardi, the photographer of Siena, has offered to do the whole series, thirty-eight in number, for one hundred dollars, and to give three copies of each subject. They have never been photographed directly from the originals, but from tracings of them made by some bungler. These existing photographs are worse than useless : perhaps, since the pictures were hanging in the dark, it was impossible to do them better. Vol. XXXVIL— 24. THE THREE MARYS. The subject is the twenty-fourth section of the large panel, and tells of the resurrection of Christ and of the particular moment where the angel says to the w^oman, " Come, see the place where the Lord lay " (Matt, xxviii. 6). The figures in all the series measure about nine inches high. The outlines of the composi- tions were sketched in the gesso ground with a point, but in the painting in of the subjects these outlines are often diverged from slightly in particular points, as around the hands and faces — modifications of the drawing; so photographs, which always give these original outlines, because of the light catching on one side or the other of the incisions, are often deceptive as to the true outlines. The colors are lively and transparent, and the skies and glories are gold. The whole is softened and en- riched by time, and, save for the innumerable fine cracks in the surface and occasional worm-holes, all is in good preservation. In the reproduction of these early men I discard all scratches, cracks, worn places, and peel- ings, as the attention is not particularly attracted by such defects when not affecting the expression of any particular part ; but should it be a face, for instance, that 170 DUCCIO. was so defaced, I should by all means as carefully re- produce the crack or peeling as I would any other por- tion of it, out of deference to the intrinsic vahie of the expression of the whole and the intention of the artist. In engraving the glories and gold parts I always put them in the highest light ; for as the light strikes them sidewise they shine out brightly above the other tints, and this no doubt was one of the most desirable effects gained in the use of gold. In the subject in question, No. 24 of the large panel, the drapery of the foremost figure of the group of three is a light soft tone of ver- milion, the underrobe a delicate tone of blue a few degrees darker in tone than the red above it. Her draped hand presses the box of ointment to her breast. The next figure, similarly holding a vase, is clad in light purple, stronger in tone, however, than the red, and the underrobe a warm bluish gray, being a tone of white in shadow. The middle figure in the rear is in green, darker in tone than the red, but lighter than the purple. The flesh tints are soft and luminous and brighter than the garments, but the flesh of the angel is darker, and has a reddish cast. The white garment of the angel is of a soft warm reddish tone, and the tomb partakes of the same tone, but darker. The angel has red stockings. The rocks forming the background are of a warm gray tone in the light portions, clear and deep in the shaded parts. No doubt the defective per- spective of the slab on which the angel sits will be noticed by the critical. I have asked several of the uninitiated if they saw anything wrong about the tomb ; no one has, however, but all instantly remark upon the calm serenity of the angel. How finely this is con- trasted with the awe rather than fear in the group of the three Marys. You could not imagine a grander or simpler composition. I have cut off part of the upper portion of the picture, which takes away the upper part of the rock above the angel's head ; this enabled me to do greater justice to the heads, which were thus made larger on the block. Please note that %vhen I engrave an entire picture, Isnr- roimd it by a line. A line around a picture is evidence of its completeness; in France a dealer in engravings makes a point of this. So if I cut off a portion of a picture I leave that side from which the part was q.\\.\. without a line, as in the above instance ; and if I select a detail from the center of a picture I leave it without a line entirely, as in the case of the Cimabue in Santa Maria Novella. THE INCREDULITY OF ST. THOMAS. The subject is a detail from the " Incredulity of St. Thomas," one of the small panels which adorned the base of the large one of twenty-six. It hangs in the same room as the large one, in the Opera del Duomo. I have selected the principal figures of Christ and Thomas, and the half figure of St. Peter behind. You will be struck, I am sure, with the action of St. Thomas. The way in which Duccio expresses the doubt and hesitation of Thomas is something wonderful. Notice his wavering action — how the left foot comes forward as he goes towards the wall ; his timidity as he dares to put his finger into the wound of Christ. But then look at Christ, his calm dignity and mild, reproving manner, his sweetly benignant aspect, and the majesty of his fig- ure with the arm uplifted. There is a gentle, kind, piti- ful look in his face that I must confess I have failed to get in my engraving ; otherwise my reproduction looks something like it — and this is about as much as I can conscientiously say of all my blocks, though I con- tinually put forth my best effort, for these things are a great inspiration to me. The treatment of the'-gar- ment of Christ serves as a very good example of the Byzantine method in the miniature illuminations, the gold markings of which were altogether too delicate to reproduce with any effect in engraving. While in the Byzantine miniatures the robe of Christ is always illuminated, Duccio has given it significance by thus ^ treating it only after the resurrection, as though he meant ThiTs to typify the glorified garment; for in all the instances before Christ's resurrection his robes are left plain blue and red. BURIAL OF THE VIRGIN. November 5, 1887. — The subject is one of the small panels, 18x21 inches, in the Opera del Duomo, Siena,- and the legend, or rather the part connected with the illustration, is as follows (I give only that portion of it which is more intimately connected with this particular illustration): "After the dispersion of the apostles, the Blessed Virgin is reported to have dwelt in her house, beside Mount Sion, and to have sedulously visited all the spots of her Son's life and passion so long as she lived; and she is reported to have lived twenty-four years after the ascension of Christ. And when, on a certain day, her heart burnt within her with longing for her Son, so that she broke out into very abundant tears, the angel Gabriel stood beside her and rever- ently saluted her, and told her, on part of her Son, that after three days she should depart from the flesh and reign with Him forever. And he gave her a branch of palm from Paradise which he commanded should be borne before the bier. And the Virgin, rejoicing, be- sought two boons of the- angel, to wit, that her sons, the apostles, might be assembled at her death, that she might die in their presence ; and secondly, that, in expiring, she might not behold Satan. And the angel promised that these things should be. And the palm- branch was green in the stem, but its leaves were like the morning star. And while John was preaching in Ephesus behold it thund'ered, and a cloud caught him awa,y and set him down at Mary's door, and entering in, Mary marveled and wept for joy. And she told him how she had been sent for by the Lord and that Christ had brought him to her, and she besought him to take charge of her burial and to bear the palm-branch be- fore the bier. And while John was wishing for the presence of his brother apostles, behold they were all transported in clouds from the places where tbey preached, and collected together before the door of Mary; to whom, while they gazed on each other greatly astonished, John went forth, and warned them of Mary's summons, and admonished them not to weep, nor let it be imputed to them that they who preached the resurrection feared death." (Here I leave out the particular account of Mary's death.) " For the Lord commanded the apostles that they should carry her body into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and place it in a new tomb thdt had been dug there, and watch three days beside^it till he should return." (Here follows a short eulogy on the purity of the Bles- sed Virgin.) LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD, 171 " And when the body was laid on the bier, Peter and Paul uplifted it, and the other apostles ranged them- selves around it." (Then comes a description of the carrying of the body of Mary to the tomb.) " And the apostles laid the body of the Virgin in the tomb.''^ (This is the particular portion forming the subject of the picture.) " And they watched beside it three days, and on the third day the Lord appeared with a multitude of angels, and raised up Mary, and she was received, body and soul, into heaven." "According to some accounts," says Lindsay, "the apostle Thomas was not present at the Virgin's as- sumption " ; and this accounts for there being only twelve apostles around the Virgin at her entombment, instead of thirteen, which the addition of Paul would make had Thomas been present. Speaking of the coloring of Duccio, Eastlake, in a few superficial remarks, says he is "devoid of relief" in this respect. I leave the reader to judge, from the last example shown, how totally at variance with the truth this is. In some instances his coloring is Titian- esque — warm, lustrous, and deep. The garment of the Virgin in the entombment is a deep blue, of a most charming hue. That of the apostle next to Peter and immediately above the head of the Virgin is also a blue, but of a different, warmer, aftd softer tone, so that here, for instance, is a relief of color very subtile and harmonious. That of the apostle John, who holds the palm-branch, is a rose-pink in the high lights, shading to a deeper red. The contrast this makes with the lovely blues is the most pleasing thing imaginable to look upon. Now the garments of the apostle whose head comes just above the stars of the palm-branch are also red, similar in tone to the deep shading in John's garment ; but there is a soft- ness of tone about it that gives just the proper relief to the latter. Then the J)alm-branch, of which the stars are gold, is a delicious soft, tender green, shading gently deeper to one side, and this again is properly re- lieved against the deeper green of the garment of the apostle the top of whose head comes just behind three of the stars. This apostle, from the type of his face and his long hair, is evidently James, the brother of our Lord. The garment of the one next to him, whose hand comes in proximity with those of the Virgin, is a charming mixture of warm purple and greenish-blue tints. That of the one next to him is of a warm brown, well relieved against the brownish shadows of the rock behind. So on throughout — alv/ays a pleasing variety and subtile relief of color. The marble tomb is of a reddish, warm tone, roughly hewn, as I have engraved it. The trees, carefully worked up in detail, are of various shades of lustrous green, and the sky and glories around the heads are gold. The flesh tints are warm brownish yellows, while the flesh of the Virgin is relieved from that of the others, being deader in tone. The whole is a most harmonious combination of color — a true symphony in color. T. Cole. LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. 1 1 HE extension of our acquaintance in Tomsk, on one side with Gov- ernment officials and on the other with poHtical exiles, led now and then to peculiar and embarrass- ing situations. A day or two be- fore our departure for Irkutsk, while two of the politicals — Messrs. Volkhofski and Chudnof- ski — were sitting in our room at the Euro- pean Hotel, a servant suddenly knocked, threw open the door, and announced his Excellency Actual State Councilor Petukhof, the governor pro tem. of the province. My heart, as the Rus- sians say, went into my fingers' ends. I did not know what relations existed between the ban- ished revolutionists and Governor Petukhof. We had called several times upon the latter without referring in any way to our acquaint- ance with this class of criminals; and in all our intercourse with the Tomsk officials we had treated the subject of political exile with stud- ied indifference, in order to avert suspicion and escape troublesome inquiries. To be then sur- prised by the governor himself while two prom- inent politicals were sitting in our room and writing at our table was, to say the least, em- barrassing. I had just had time to ask Volk- hofski and Chudnofski whether or not I should introduce them to the governor, when the lat- ter, in full uniform, entered the room. There was a curious expression of surprise in his good- humored face as he took in at a glance the situation ; but the removal of his heavy over- coat and galoshes gave him an opportunity to recover himself, and as he came forward with outstretched hand to greet Mr. Frost and me there was nothing in his manner to indicate the least annoyance or embarrassment. He shook hands cordially with the two political exiles, who had been condemned by a court of justice to penal servitude; began at once a conversation in which they could join, and be- haved generally with so much tact and cour- tesy, that in five minutes we were all chatting together as unceremoniously as if we were old acquaintances who had met accidentally at a club. It was, however, a strangely constituted group : an American newspaper man ; an American artist; two political exiles who had been punished with solitary confinement, leg- fetters, and the strait-jacket; and, finally, the highest provincial representative of the Gov- ernment that had so dealt with these exiles — all meeting upon the common footing of per- 172 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. sonal character, and ignoring, for the time, the pecuHar network of interrelations that united them. Whether or not Governor Petu- khof reported to the Minister of the Interior that we had made the acquaintance of the poHtical criminals in Tomsk, I do not know™ probably not. He seemed to me to be a faith- ful officer of the Crown, but, at the same time, a man of culture, ability, and good sense; and while he doubtless disapproved of the revolu- tionary movement, he recognized the fact that among the banished revolutionists were men of education, refinement, and high personal character, who might, naturally enough, at- tract the attention of foreign travelers. The number of politicals in Tomsk, at the time of our visit, was about 30, including 6 or 8 women. Some of them were administrative ex- iles, who had only just arrived from European Russia; some were " poselentse," or forced colo- nists, who had been banished originally to " the most remote part " of Siberia, but who had finally been allowed to return in broken health to a " less remote part " ; while a few were sur- vivors of the famous " 193," who had languished for years in the casemates of the Petropavlovsk fortress, and had then been sent to the plains of Western Siberia. I was surprised to find among the adminis- trative exiles in Tomsk men and women who had just returned from long terms of banish- ment in the sub-arctic province of Yakutsk. " How did it happen," I said to one of them, " that you, a mere administrative exile, were sent to the worst part of Eastern Siberia ? I thought that the province of Yakutsk was re- served as a place of punishment for the more dangerous class of political offenders, and for compulsory colonists from the mines of the Trans-Baikal." " That is not quite the case," he replied. " It is true that administrative exiles are usu- ally sent to some part of Western Siberia, but they are frequently transferred afterward to the province of Yakutsk. I myself was sent to Western Siberia in the first place, but in 1881 I was transported to Yakutsk because I would not take the oath of allegiance to Alexander III." " Do you mean," I said, " that the Govern- ment, while punishing you for treason, required you to take an oath of loyalty ? " " Precisely," he replied ; " and because I could n't and w^ould n't do it, I was banished to a Yakut ooloos." ^ " But," I exclaimed, " that was not orily unjust, but stupid. What was the use of ask- ing a political exile to swear that he was a loyal citizen ? " "There was no use of it," he answered; " but it was dpne^-^ The Government did not even content itself with exacting an oath of loyalty, but required me to swear that I would tell all I knew about the revolutionary move- ment ; or, in other words, betray my friends. I could not do that, even if I had been changed into a loyal subject by banishment." Further inquiry elicited the fact, which was. then a new one to me, that all administrative exiles who were living in Western Siberia when Alexander III. came to the throne in 1881 were required by the Minister of the Interior to take the oath of allegiance to the new Tsar. It was unreasonable, of course, to expect that men who were already undergoing punishment for disloyalty to Alexander II. would stultify themselves by taking an oath of allegiance to Alexander III.; yet the Minister of the In- terior either entertained such an expectation, or else made a pretense of it in order to have an excuse for punishing a second time men who had not committed a second offense. If a criminal whose sentence has been pro- nounced, and who is already in exile, refuses to admit that his criminal act was wrong, such refusal may be a good reason for not setting him at liberty until the expiration of his penal term; but it is hardly a sufficient reason for arbitrarily increasing threefold the severity of his punishment. It would be regarded as a very remarkable proceeding if Governor Oglesby should go to-m'orrow to the anarchists recently sentenced to state prison in Illinois, require them to declare under oath that they were not anarchists, and then, if they refused, drag them out of their cells and hang them off- hand without the ministrations of a clergyman. Yet that is precisely analogous to the action that was taken by the Russian Government in the cases of administrative exiles who were liv- ing in Western Siberia when the present Tsar came to the throne. If the Minister of the In- terior did not know that these men were disloy- al, he had no right to punish them with exile. 1 " Ooloos " is the name for a native settlement, con- sisting perhaps of only one or two earth-covered yourts, situated in the taiga, or primeval wilderness of Ya- kutsk, sometimes hundreds of miles from the nearest Russian village and more than 5000 miles from St. Petersburg. The gentleman to whom I here refer was sent to an ooloos in the district of Amga, only five de- grees south of the arctic circle, and reached his desti- nation in December, in the midst of an arctic winter. I have a list of names of 79 political offenders who were living in Yakut oolooses in the year 1882, including the Russian novelist Vladimir Korolenko, Professor Bog- danovitch, who was formerly instructor in chemistry in a university in Austrian* Poland, and M, Linoif, who had lived four or five years in the United States and had taken out his first naturalization papers as an American citizen. The list includes also one French- man, one German, and nine educated women. The Frenchman and the German had made appeals for help, I believe, to their own Governments, but without result. LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. ^12> If, on the other hand, he did know that they were disloyal, he acted with cruel injustice in forcing upon them such a choice of alterna- tives as perjury or a living death in the sub- arctic province of Yakutsk. Scores of exiled men and women, who had committed no new offense, were sent from Western Siberia to Eastern Siberia, or to Yakut oolooses near the Asiatic pole of cold, simply because they would not perjure themselves and turn in- formers. One of these unfortunates was the gifted Russian novelist Vladimir Korolenko. He had already been banished three times — once to Siberia through an administrative "mistake," and he was then transported to the province of Yakutsk because he would not betray his friends, kiss the mailed hand that had smitten him, and swear that he was a loyal subject of " The Lord's Anointed," Alexander III. The reader may perhaps think that in de- scribing banishment to a Yakut ooloos as a "living death" I have used too strong an expression. I will therefore describe it as it appears to well-informed and dispassionate Russians. In the early part of the year 1881, when the liberal minister Loris Melikoff was in power and when there existed in Russia a limited freedom of the press, Mr. S. A. Pri- klonski, a well-known author and a gentleman who served at one time on the staff of the gov- ernor of the province of Olonets, published in the Hberal newspaper " Zemstvo" — which was shortly afterward suppressed — a long and care- fully prepared article upon exile by adminis- trative process. In that article — a copy of which now lies before me — Mr. Priklonski, over his own signature, uses the following lan- guage with regard to the life of political exiles in Yakut oolooses : There exists in the province of Yakutsk a form of exile more severe and more barbarous than any- thing that the Russian public has yet known, . . . namely, banishment to oolooses. This consists in the assignment of administrative exiles separately to residences in scattered Yakut yourts, situated sometimes many versts one from another. A recent number of the "Russian Gazette" (No. 23), in its correspondence from Yakutsk, publishes the follow- ing extract from the letter of an ooloos exile, which graphically describes the awful situation of an edu- cated human being who has been mercilessly thrown into one of the yourts of these arctic savages. 1 Since Mr. Priklonski, the fearless and talented author of this article, is now dead, I may say, without fear of injuring him, that he himself gave me the copy of it that I now have, together with a quantity of other manuscript material relating to exile by administrative process. He was a man of high character and more than ordinary ability, and is well and favorably known in Russia as the author of "Sketches of Self-govern- ment," published in 1884; "Popular Life in the North," which appeared in 1886 ; and a large number ' ' The Cossacks who had brought me from the town of Yakutsk to my destination soon returned, and I was left alone among Yakuts v/ho do not understand a word of Russian. They watch me constantly, for fear that if 1 escape they will have to answer for it to the Russian authorities. If 1 go out of the close atmosphere of the solitary yourt to walk, I am fol- lowed by a suspicious Yakut. If 1 take an ax to cut myself a cane, the Yakut directs me by gestures and pantomime to let it alone and go back into the yourt. I return thither, and before the fireplace I see a Yakut who has stripped himself naked and is hunting for lice in his clothing — a pleasant picture ! The Yakuts live in winter in the same buildings with their cattle, and frequently are not separated from the latter even by the thinnest partition. The excrement of the cattle and of the children ; the inconceivable disorder and filth ; the rotting straw and rags; the myriads of vermin in the bedding; the foul, oppressive air ; and the impossibility of speaking a word of Russian — all these things taken together are positively enough to drive one insane. The food of the Yakuts can hardly be eaten. It is carelessly prepared, without salt, often of tainted materials, and the unaccustomed stomach rejects it with nausea. I have no separate dishes or clothing of my own ; there are no facilities for bathing, and during the whole winter — eight months — I am as dirty as a Yakut. 1 cannot go anywhere — least of all to the town, which is two hundred versts dis- tant. I live with the Yakuts by turns — staying with one family for six weeks, and then going for the same length of time to another. I have noth- ing to read, — neither books nor newspapers, — and I know nothing of what is going on in the world." Beyond this [says Mr. Priklonski in comment- ing upon the letter] severity cannot go. Beyond this there remains nothing to do but to tie a man to the tail of a wild horse and drive him into the steppe, or chain him to a corpse and leave him to fate. One does not wish to believe that a human being can be subjected, without trial and by a mere executive order, to such grievous torment — to a punishment which European civilization has ban- ished from its penal code even for the most desper- ate class of villains whose inhuman crimes have been proved by trial in a criminal court. And yet we are assured by the correspondent of the *' Russian Gazette " that up to this time none of the exiles in the province of Yakutsk have been granted any alleviating privileges ; ten newly arrived adminis- tratives have been distributed, — most of them among the oolooses, — and more are expected in the near future.l The statements made in Mr. Priklonski's article are supported by private letters, now in my possession, from ooloos exiles, by the of articles upon local self-government and the condition of the Russian peasantry, printed from time to time in the journals " The Week," " Zemstvo," and " Russian Thought." Mr. Priklonski was not a revolutionist, and the article from whicli I have made quotations was not published in a revolutionary sheet. It appeared in the "Zemstvo," the unofficial organ of the Russian provincial assemblies, which was at that time under the editorial management of the well-known author and publicist Mr. V. U. Skalon. I mention these 174 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. concurrent testimony of a large number of po- liticals who have lived through this experience, and by my own personal observation. I have myself slept in sod-covered Yakut yourts side by side with cattle ; I have borne some of the hardships of life in these wretched habitations, and I know how intolerable it must be for a refined and educated human being — and es- pecially for a woman — to spend months or years in the midst of such an environment. It must be said, however, in fairness, that some administrative exiles, who are allowed to receive money from their friends, buy or build houses for themselves, and have a somewhat more endurable existence. The Russian novel- ist Korolenko occupied a house of his own, apart from the Yakuts, and a number of the re- turned ooloos exiles whose acquaintance I made in Tomsk told me that, with the aid of friends, they bought, built, or hired log houses in the oolooses to which they had been banished, and thus escaped the filth and disorder of the Yakut yourts. Some of them too had a few books, and received letters from their relatives once or twice a year through the police. They suf- fered, nevertheless, great hardships and priva- tions. Mr. Linoff", a cultivated gentleman who had resided several years in the United States and who spoke English well, told me that af- ter his banishment to the province of Yakutsk he sometimes lived for months at a time with- out bread, subsisting for the most part upon fish and meat. His health was broken down by his experience, and he died at an East Si- berian etape in May, 1886, less than six months after I made his acquaintance. That the life of ooloos exiles, even under the most favorable circumstances, is almost an unendurable one sufficiently appears from the frequency with which they escape from it by self-destruction. Of the seventy-nine politicals who were in ex- ile in the province of Yakutsk in 1882, six had committed suicide previous to 1885. How many have died in that way since then I do not know ; but of the six to whom I refer, I have the names. I was struck in Tomsk by the composure with which political exiles would soraetimes talk of intolerable injustice and frightful suffer- ings. The men and women who had been sent to the province of Yakutsk for refusing to take the oath of allegiance to Alexander III., and who had suffered in that arctic wilderness all that human beings can suffer from hunger and cold and sickness and bereavement, did not seem to facts merely to show that if the Russian Government cared anything about the condition of political exiles in the province of Yakutsk, it had no excuse for inac- tion. Its attention w^as called to the subject by persons who did not seek to escape responsibility for their words, and by citizens whose abilities and patriotic services entitled them to a respectful hearing. As the be conscious that there was anything very ex- traordinary in their experience. Now andthen some man, whose wife had committed suicide in exile, would flush a Httle and clinch his hands as he spoke ofiier; or some broken- hearted woman, whose baby had frozen to death in her arms on the road, would sob at intervals as she tried to tell me her story; but, as a rule, both men and women referred to in- justice and suffering with perfect composure, as if they were nothing more than the ordi- nary accidents of life. Mr. X , one of the politicals in K- , showed me one day, I re- member, a large collection of photographs of his revolutionary friends. Whenever a face struck me as being noteworthy, on account of its beauty or character, I would ask whose it was. " That," Mr. X would say quietly, " is Miss A , once a teacher in a peasant school; she died of prison consumption in Kiev three years ago. The man with the full beard is B , formerly a justice of the peace in N ; he was hanged at St. Petersburg in 1879. The thin-faced girl is Miss C- one of the so-called propagandists ; she went insane in the House of Preliminary Detention while awaiting trial. The pretty young woman with the cross on the sleeve of her dress is Madame D , a Red Cross nurse in one of the field hospitals during the late Russo-Turk- ish war; she was sentenced to twenty years of penal servitude and is now at the mines of Kara. The lady opposite her on the same page is Miss E , formerly a student in the Bez- tuzhef medical school for women in St. Peters- burg ; she cut her throat with a piece of broken glass, after two years of solitary confinement in the -fortress." In this way Mr. X— — went through his whole collection of photographs, suggesting, or sketching hastily, in a few dry, matter-of-fact words, the terrible tragedies in which • the originals of the portraits had been actors. He did not show the least emotional excitement, and from his manner it might have beeii supposed that it was the commonest thing in the world for one's friends to be hanged, sent to the mines, driven insane by solitary con- finement, or tortured into cutting their throats with broken glass. His composure, however, was not insensibility, nor lack of sympathy. It was rather the natural result of long famil- iarity with such tragedies. One may become accustomed in time even* to the sights and Minister of the Interior has continued to send edu- cated human beings to Yakut oolooses from that time to this, he has made it impossible for the civilized world to draw any, other conclusion than that he con- sciously and deliberately intends to subject men and women, without trial or hearing, to the miseries set forth in the letter from which Mr. Priklonski quotes. LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. 175 sounds of a field hospital, and the Russian revo- lutionists have become so accustomed to in- justice and misery that they can speak with- out emotional excitement of things that made my face flush and my heart beat fast with in- dignation or pity. " Twice in my life," said a well-known Rus- sian liberal to me, " I have fully realized what it means to be a free citizen. The first time was when I returned to Russia from the United States in 18 7-, and noticed at the frontier the difference between the attitude taken by the gendarmes towards me and their attitude to- wards Englishmen who entered the empire with me. The second time was just now, when I saw the effect produced upon you by the story that Mr. B was relating to you. That story seemed to you — as I could plainly see from the expression of your face — something awful and almost incredible. To me it was no more surprising or extraordinary than an account of the running-over of a man in the street. As I watched the play of expression in your face — as I was forced to look at the facts, for a mo- ment, from your point of view — I felt again, to the very bottom of my soul, the difference between a free citizen and a citizen of Rus- sia." The condition of the banished politicals in Tomsk was better than the condition of such offenders in any other part of Siberia that we visited. Prince Krapotkin complained to me of the climate there as trying and unhealthful ; but it did not seem to me to be worse, in any respect, than the climate of northern New England. The educated people of the city were liberal and enterprising; the town had a good bookstore, a public library, a theater, a liberal newspaper, — when it was not under sen- tence of suspension, — and excellent schools; the Government was less oppressive than in the province of Tobolsk; the political exiles could meet one another freely ; most of them could write and receive letters without sub- mitting them to the police for supervision, and it seemed to me that their life there was fairly endurable. In view of these facts, the proba- bility that Tomsk will shortly cease to be a place of banishment for political offenders is a subject for profound regret. Since my last article was written, the Russian Government has announced its intention to open one " fac- ulty," or department, — the so-called "medical faculty," — of the long-talked-of Siberian uni- versity, for which a splendid building was erect- ed in Tomsk, chiefly by private subscription, four years ago. The opening of this institu- tion of learning will probably be the signal for the removal of the political exiles to some other part of the province. The Government takes every possible precaution to prevent the stu- dents in its universities from getting " danger- ous " ideas, and it will hardly venture to as- semble a large number of young men in a city where the intelligent class of citizens is so leav- ened with " untrustworthy " elemicnts as it is in Tomsk. Bright-witted students who are given an opportunity to make the personal ac- quaintance of such men as Chudnofski and the late Prince Krapotkin are apt to draw, from the fate of the latter, conclusions that are neither conducive to loyalty nor in har- mony with the Government's idea of education. It is greatly to be feared, therefore, that if the Minister of the Interior has finally decided, after four years of deliberation, to try the " dangerous " experiment of opening the Tomsk University, he has also decided to send the Tomsk exiles somewhere else. On Friday, August 28, after bidding good- bye to the politicals in Tomsk and making final calls upon Colonel Yagodkin and one or two other ofiftcers who had been particularly kind and hospitable to us, Mr. Frost and I procured a fresh padorozhnaya, climbed once more into our old tarantas, and set out, with a troika of good post horses, for Irkutsk, the capital of Eastern Siberia, which was distant from Tomsk 1040 miles. Governor Petukhof had promised that he would send us an open letter directing all convoy ofhcers within his jurisdiction to allow us to inspect etapes; but he had forgotten it, or had reconsidered his promise after finding the political exiles in our room at the European Hotel, and we were left to gain admission to etapes as best we could. Our journey of 260 miles to Achinsk, the first town in Eastern Siberia, was not marked by any noteworthy incident. The part of the province of Tomsk, through which we passed was generally rolling, or broken by ranges of low hills, and in appearance it sug- gested at times the thinly settled forest region of eastern Maine, and at others the fertile farming country of western New York. In some places we rode for hours through a dense second growth of birches, poplars, and evergreens which hid from sight everything except the sky and the black muddy road, and then, a dozen miles farther on, we would come out into an extensive open prairie embroidered with daisies, or cross a wide shallow valley whose bottom and sloping sides were covered with an irregular patchwork of cultivated fields. The weather was cool and fall-like, but the mosquitoes were still troublesome, and the flowers continued to be abundant. On the 6th of September I counted thirty-four difterent kinds of flowers in blossom beside the road, in- cluding wild roses, forget-me-nots, crane's-bill, two or three species of aster, goldenrod, wild mustard, monk's-hood, spirea, buttercups, fire- 176 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. weed, bluebells, vase pinks, and Kirghis caps. Many of them were blooming out of their proper season and were represented by only a few scattered specimens; but of others we might have picked millions. The most attract- ive and highly cultivated region that we saw was that lying between the post stations of Itatskaya and Bogotolskaya, about fifty miles west of Achinsk. The weather was warm and pleasant, and the picture presented by the fer- tile rolling country with its rich autumnal col- oring, the clumps of silver birch and poplar here and there in the flowery meadows, the extensive fields of ripe yellow wheat which stretched away up the gentle sunny slopes of the hills, and the groups of men and women in scarlet or blue shirts who were harvesting the grain with clumsy sickles or eating their noonday lunch in the shade of a frost-tinted birch by the roadside, was a picture not un- worthy of an artist's pencil, nor of comparison with any rural landscape of like character in the world. The villages, however, in this part of Si- beria were less deserving of commendation than was the scenery. They consisted gen- erally of a double line of gray, unpainted log houses extending sometimes for two or three versts along the miry, chocolate-col- ored road, without the least sign anywhere of foliage or vegetation, except, perhaps, the leafy branch of a tree nailed up at the door of one of the numerous " kabaks," " Rhine cellars," " drinking establishments," " piteini doms," or " optovi sklads " which in every Siberian village bring revenue to the Govern- ment and demoralization to the peasants. These bush-decorated houses are of many dif- ferent sorts and go by many different names ; but they all sell vodka, and, to a great extent, they are responsible for the dirty, slovenly, and poverty-stricken appearance of the peasant villages on the great Siberian road. There are thirty rum-shops to every school throughout Western Siberia, and thirty-five rum-shops to every school throughout Eastern Siberia -, and in a country where there exists such a dispro- portion between the facilities for education and the facilities for intoxication, one cannot reasonably expect to find clean, orderly, or prosperous villages. The graveyards belonging to the Siberian settlements sometimes seemed to me much more remarkable and noteworthy than the set- tlements themselves. Near one of the villages that we passed in this part of our journey, I noticed a cemetery in which nearly half the graves were marked by jet-black, three-armed, wooden crosses, covered with narrow A-shaped roofs, and surrounded by red, green, blue, and yellow picket fences. Some of the pecuhar black crosses bore the English letters "I. H. S." on one of the arms, while others had painted on them in white the figure of Christ crucified — the legs being made extraordinarily long and thin so as to occupy the whole length of the upright shaft. Anything more remark- able than one of these ghastly white figures, on a black cross, under a gable roof, with a cheerful red, white, and blue picket fence around it, I could hardly imagine ; but it furnished a striking proof that the Russian love for crude color triumphs even over death. I do not remember to have seen bright colors used in a graveyard in any other part of the world or among any other people. Harvesting was in progress all along the road between Tomsk and Achinsk, and in many places the whole population, with the exception of the post station-master and three or four drivers, had gone to the fields. In one village the only inhabitant whom we saw was a flaxen-haired child about five years of age, dressed in a dirty homespun shirt, wearing on a string about its neck a huge cow-bell, and gnawing contentedly at a big raw turnip, as it paddled along the deserted street half-way up to its knees in mud. Whether the cow-bell was one of the child's playthings, or whether the mother had made use of it as a means of finding her offspring when she should return from the harvest field, I do not know ; but the combination of child, turnip, and cow-bell, in a viflage that did not appear to contain another living inhabitant, was novel enough to attract my attention. In the outskirts of another settlement we were reminded once more that we were in a penal colony by the sight of a handcuffed horse- grazing peacefully by the roadside. I knew that the Russian Government had once flogged and exiled to Siberia a free-thinking and insubordinate church-bell ^ because it had not self-control enough to hold its tongue when turned upside down ; but I was a little startled, nevertheless, by the idea, which at once sug- gested itself to me, that the Government ha'd taken to exiling and handcufiing " untrust- worthy " horses. Upon making inquiries of the station-master, I was gratified to learn that this was not a horse that had behaved in a manner " prejudicial to public order " by re- fusing to neigh upon the accession of Alexander III. to the throne, but was merely an animal ad- dicted to vagrancy, whose»owner had hoppled him with an old pair of Government hand- cuffs in order to prevent him from straying. The peasant to whom he belonged had unfor- tunately lost the key to the handcuffs, and for two or three months the horse had been as 1 The celebrated bell of Uglitch. It is now in To- bolsk. LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. 177 usel' •^^. i"i spi'xL(l ( iiiiinn. chiii-k i\ ! mil lSi( Ii)\ II k i\ 1 ilioii' iwi iii\ mil' \w l')l \' 'nil L. w^. ( 111-, I il llu lii>iiin ar) li n In i\M ' ii llu j)iu\ iiK -, ()| I oiii^k and Vi^ijisUbk, and tiiLcitd die vast le- gion known as Eastern Siberia. The bound- ary was marked by two brick columns about two feet square and seven feet high, which bore on their eastern and western sides the coats of arms of the two conter- minous provinces. The rate of postal trans- portation changed at this point from one and a half kopecks to three kopecks per verst for every horse, and our traveling expenses were thus almost doubled, without any commensurate increase in comfort or in speed. The reason assigned for this change in rate is the higher cost of forage and food in Eastern Siberia ; but the Government, in dealing with its exiles, does not ap- parently give any weight to this consider- ation. If the necessaries of life are enough higher in Eastern Siberia to justify the doubling of the rate for postal transportation, or seven kopecks a pound, the exile receives it would seem to follow that they are high neither more nor less than ten kopecks a day. enough to require some increase in the ration The result of this is that in Western Siberia allowance of the exiles on the road ; but no he generally has enough food to sustain his such increase is made. No matter whether it strength, while in Eastern Siberia, and par- is in Western Siberia or in Eastern Siberia, ticularly in the Trans-Baikal, he often suffers whether black bread costs two kopecks a pound from hunger. Vol. XXXVII.— 25. 178 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. OLD BARK-MILLS, KRASNOYARSK. We passed the town of Achinsk on Tuesday, September i, and entered upon the most dif- ficult and exhausting part of our journey. The country suddenly became wilder and more mountainous in its character; the road, for a distance of sixty or seventy miles, ran across a series of high wooded ridges, separated one from another by swampy ravines ; rain fell al- most incessantly ; and it was all that five power- ful horses could do to drag our heavy tarantas up the steep hills and through the abysses of tenacious semi-liquid clay in the intervening valleys. Even where the road was compara- tively hard, it had been cut into deep ruts and hollows by thousands of obozes, or freight wagons; the attempts that had been made here and there to improve it by throwing tree-trunks helter-skelter into the sloughs and quagmires had only rendered it worse ; and the swaying, banging, and plunging of the tarantas were something frightful. An American stage-coach would have gone to pieces on such a road before it had made a single station. In the course of the first night after leaving Achinsk, I was thrown violently against the sides or the roof of our tarantas at least three or four hun- dred times. This incessant jolting, added to sleeplessness and fatigue, brought on a rack- ing headache ; I was in a shiver most of the night from cold and lack of nourishing food ; and when we reached the station of Ibrulskaya early Wednesday morning, after having made in twenty hours and with four changes of horses a distance of only fifty miles, I felt as if I had been beaten from head to foot with a club and left for dead. Mr. Frost was sick,, and had had three severe thills in the night,, and he looked so worn and haggard that I became seriously alarmed about him. He did not wish, however, to stop in the post station of Ibrulskaya, which was already full of travelers sleeping on benches or on the floor, and after refreshing ourselves with tea, we pushed on towards Krasnoyarsk. I cannot remember, in all Siberia, a worse road for wheeled vehicles than that between Achinsk and Krasnoyarsk. I have never, in fact, seen a worse road in my life, and it was not at all surprising that Mr. Frost was pros- trated by the jolting, the consequent sleepless- ness, and the lack of substantial food. We had been able to get meat at the post stations only once in four days ; we had lived almost entirely upon the bread and tea that we carried with us ; and for ninety-six hours we had had only such snatches of sleep as w^e could get in the taran- tas at intervals on short Stretches of smooth road, or on benches in the station-houses while waiting for horses. It was some satisfaction to learn, at Oostanofskaya, that General Ignatief, the newly appointed Governor- General of East- ern Siberia, who passed over the road between Achinsk and Krasnoyarsk a few days before us, was so exasperated by its condition that he LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. 179 ordered the immediate arrest of the contractor who had undertaken to keep it in repair, and directed that he be held in prison to await an investigation. Mr. Frost and I agreed that it was a proper case for the exercise of despotic power. We arrived in Krasnoyarsk late on the even- ing of Wednesday, September 2, after a journey from Tomsk of 370 miles, which had occupied a little more than five days of incessant travel. An abundant supper and a good night's rest in a small hotel near the post station restored our tired bodies to something like their normal condition, and Thursday afternoon we changed our travel-stained clothing and called upon Mr. Leo Petrovitch Kuznetsoff, a wealthy gold- mining proprietor to whom we had brought a letter of introduction from St. Petersburg. We little anticipated the luxurious comfort of the house and the delightful social atmosphere of the home circle to which this letter would ad- mit us. The servant who came to the door in response to our ring showed us into one of the mostbeautiful and tastefully furnished drawing- rooms that we had seen in Russia. It was oil-paintings by well-known Russian, French, and English artists occupied places of honor at the ends of the room ; and at our right, as we entered, was a grand piano, flanked by a carved stand piled high with books and music. We had hardly had time to recover from the state of astonishment into which we were thrown by the sight of so many unexpected evidences of wealth, culture, and refinement in this remote East Siberian town when a slen- der, dark-haired, pale-faced young man in cor- rect afternoon dress entered the drawing-room, introduced himself as Mr. Innokenti Kuznet- soff, and welcomed us in good English to Krasnoyarsk. We were soon made acquainted with the whole Kuznetsoff family, which con- sisted of three brothers and two sisters, all un- married, and all living together in this luxurious house. Mr, Innokenti Kuznetsoff and his sis- ters spoke English fluently ; they had traveled in America, and had spent more or less time in New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Sara- toga, Chicago, Salt Lake City, and San Fran- cisco. Mr. Innokenti Kuznetsoff's personal acquaintance with the United States was more extensive, indeed, than my own; inas- much as he had twice fully fifty feet in length by thirty-five feet in width and twenty feet high ; its inlaid floor of polished oak was hid- den here and there by soft ori- ental rugs; palms, luxuriant ferns, and pots of blossoming plants occupied the lower por- tions of the high, richly cur- tained windows ; the apparent size of the spacious apartment was increased by long pier- glasses interposed between the masses of greenery and flowers ; a cheerful fire of birch wood was burning in an open fireplace under a massive mantel of carved marble ; cabinets of polished cherry, filled with rare old china, delicate ivory carvings, bronze Buddhist idols, and all sorts of bric-a-brac, stood here and there against the walls ; large ROAD TO MONASTERY. crossed the continent; had hunted bufialo on our Western prairies ; had met General Sheri- dan, Buffalo Bill, Captain Jack, and other frontier notables; and had even visited re- gions as remote as Yellowstone Park and the " Staked Plains." i8o LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROA)D A SIBERIAN BLACKSMITH. How pleasant it was, after months of rough hfe in dirty post stations or vermin-infested ho- tels, to come suddenly into such a house as that of the Kuznetsoffs; to find ourselves surrounded by flowers, books, pictures, and innumerable other evidences of cultured taste; to hear good music ; to talk with intelligent men and women who did not tell us harrowing stories of imprison- ment and exile — all this the reader can hardly imagine. We dined with the Kuznetsoffs every day that we spent in Krasnoyarsk, and met at their table some very attractive and cultivated people. Among the latter I remember particu- larly Mr. Ivan Savenkoff, the director of the Krasnoyarsk normal school, who had just re- turned from an archaeological excursion up the Yenisei, and who showed us some very inter- esting tracings and water-color copies of the pre- historic sketches and inscriptions that abound on the " pictured rocks " along that river. Mr. Innokenti Kuznetsoff shared Mr. Savenkofif's interest in archaeology, and both gentlemen had valuable collections of objects dating from the stone or the bronze age that had been taken from " kurgans " or tumuli in various parts of the province. Thursday evening, after dinner, we all drove up the left bank of the river to an old monas- tery about six versts from the city, where the people of Krasnoyarsk are accustomed to go in summer for picnics. The road, which was a noteworthy triumph of monastic engineering, had been cut out in the st6ep cliffs that border the Yenisei, or had been carried on trestle-work along the faces of these clifts high above the water, and at every salient angle it commanded a beautiful view of the majestic river, which, at this point, attains a width of more than a mile and glides swiftly past, between blue pictur- esque mountains, on its way from the wild fast- nesses of Mongolia to. the barren coast of the Arctic Ocean. Our friends in Krasnoyarsk tempted us to remain there a week or two with promises of all sorts of delightful excursions, but at that late season of the year we could not spare the time. It required not a little resolution to turn our backs on picnic parties and boating parties, on archaeological excursions up the Yenisei, on such congenial society as we found in the hospitable homes of Mr. Savenkoff and the Kuznetsoffs, and to face again the old miser- ies of jolting, sleeplessness, cold, hunger, and fatigue on the road ; but it was important that we should reach the mines of the Trans-Baikal before winter set in, and we had yet 1200 miles to go. Saturday afternoon, September 5, we re- luctantly ordered post horses ; provided our- selves with a fresh supply of bread, tea, and LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. i8i copper money ; repacked our baggage in the old, battered, mud-splashed tarantas, which we were beginning to dread as a once-tortured criminal dreads the rack; and crossing the Yenisei on a pendulum ferry-boat, resumed our journey to Irkutsk. The weather was once more pleasant and sunshiny, but the changing colors of the dying leaves showed that fall was at hand. Many of the poplars had already turned a deep brilliant red, and nearly half of the birches were solid masses of canary yellow, which, when seen against the dark background of the somber evergreens, suggested foliage in a state of incandescence. The vast fields of wheat in the valley of the Yenisei and on the lower slopes of the hills in the neighborhood of Krasnoyarsk were apparently dead ripe, and hundreds of men and women, with horse- hair mosquito-protectors over their heads, were reaping the grain with sickles, binding it into sheaves, and stacking the sheaves by fives in long rows. We traveled without rest Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, but on Wed- nesday morning, at the sta- tion of Kamyshetskaya, about 350 miles from Ir- kutsk, we were forced to stop in order to have repairs made to our tarantas. We found the village black- smith in a little shop near the post station, where, with the aid of his daughter, a robust young woman eigh- teen or twenty years of age, he was engaged in shoeing a horse. One might infer, from the elaborate precau- tions taken to prevent the animal from injuring him- self or anybody else while being shod, that Siberian horses are more than usu- ally fractious, or Siberian blacksmiths more than usu- ally careless in driving nails. The poor beast had been hoisted into the air by means of two broad belly- bands, and suspended from a stout frame so that he could not touch the ground ; three of his legs had then been lashed to an equal number of posts so that he could neither kick nor struggle, and the daring black- smith v/as fearlessly putting a shoe on the only hoof that the wretched and humifiated animal could move. We learned, upon inquiry, that Siberian horses are always shod in this way, and we concluded that Siberian blacksmiths must be regarded by accident insurance com- panies as extra safe and very desirable risks. While we were waiting for the repairs to our tarantas we were overtaken by the Moscow post. The Russian mails are carried in Siberia in leathern bags or pouches as with us, and are forwarded in telegas under guard of an armed postilion, changing horses and vehicles at every station. There is no limit, so far as I know, to the weight or size of packages that may be sent by post, — I have myself mailed a box weighing forty pounds, — and the mails are consequently very bulky and heavy, filling sometimes a dozen telegas. Irkutsk, the capital of Eastern Siberia, has a mail from Moscow every day and returns it three times a week; and as the imperial post takes precedence over private travelers, the latter are often forced to wait for hours at post stations because the last horses have been taken by the Government postilion. Such was our fate-at Kamyshetskaya. The repairs to our tarantas were soon made. THE DEPARTURE OF THE MAIL. but in the mean time we had been overtaken by the post, and we were obHged to wait for horses until 2 o'clock in the afternoon. From Kamyshetskaya to Irkutsk we traveled night and day, stopping only now and then to l82 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. inspect an etape, or to watch the progress of an exile party, as, with a dismal cHnking of chains, it made its way slowly along the road, in a pouring rain, towards the distant mines of the Trans-Baikal. Some of these parties had been more than two months in making the distance from Tomsk that we had traversed in eight days, and none of them would reach their without skilled medical attention or proper care ; and to talk with intelligent officers of the prison department who had been famiHar f^r years with every feature of the exile system. The result of my investigation was a deliberate conviction that the suffering involved in the present method of transporting criminals to Si- beria is not paralleled by anything of the kind AN OLD BRODYAG BEGGING F0033. destination until late in the winter. A mere glance at the worn, anxious faces of the men and women was enough to give one an idea of the hardships and privations that they had already endured. The life of Siberian exiles on the road is at- tended by miseries and humiHations of which an American reader can form only a faint con- ception. I had many opportunities, during our journey from Tomsk to Irkutsk, to see con- victs on the march, in sunshine and in rain; to inspect the wretched etapes in which they were herded like catde at night ; to visit the lazarets where they sometimes lie sick for weeks that now exists in the civilized world outside of the Russian Empire. Some of this suffering is due, of course, to negligence, indifference, or official corruption ; but a very large part of it is the necessary result of ^i bad and cruel sys- tem, and it can be removed only by the com- plete abolition of the system itself, and by the substitution for it of imprisonment for life, or for a term of years, in European Russia. Only a moment's reflection is needed to satisfy any one that, even under the most favorable cir- cumstances, six or eight thousand men, women, and children cannot march two thousand miles across such a country as Eastern Siberia with- , LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. '83 out suffering terrible hardships. The physical exposure alone is enough to break down the health and strength of all except the most hardy, and when to such inevitable exposure are added insufhcient clothing, bad food, the polluted air of overcrowded etapes, and the almost complete absence of medical care and attention, one is surprised, not that so many die, but that so many get through alive. The exile parties that leave Tomsk in July and August are overtaken by the frosts and the cold rains of autumn long before they reach Irkutsk. They have not yet been supplied with winter clothing, and most of them have no bet- ter protection from rain, sleet, or cold wind than that afforded by a coarse linen shirt, a pair of linen drawers, and a gray frieze over- coat. Imagine such a party marching in a cold north-east storm along the road over which we passed between Achinsk and Krasnoyarsk. Every individual is wet to the skin by the drenching rain, and the nursing women, the small children, and the sick lie shivering on water-soaked straw in small rude telegas, with- out even a pretense of shelter from the storm. In places the mud is almost knee-deep, and the wagons wallow through it at the rate of about two miles an hour. The bodies of the marching convicts, kept warm by the exertion of walking in heavy leg-fetters, steam a little in the raw, chilly air, but a large number of the men have lost or removed their shoes, and are wading through the freezing mud with bare feet. The Government, influenced, I presume, by considerations of economy, furnishes its ex- iles in summer and fall with low shoes or slip- pers called "kottee," instead of with boots. These kottee are made by contract and by the thousand, of the cheapest materials, and by the Government itself are expected to last only six weeks.^ As a matter of fact they fre- quently do not last one week. A high officer of the exile administration told me that it was a common thing to see ex- iles leave Tomsk or Krasnoyarsk with new kottee and come into the second etape bare- footed— their shoes having gone to pieces in less than two days. Even when the kottee hold out for their nominal period of service, they are not fitted to the feet of the wearers ; they cannot be secured, because they have no laces; they are so low that they fill with mire and water and are constantly sticking fast or coming off in mud-holes ; and on such a road as that between Achinsk and Krasnoyarsk scores of convicts either remove their shoes and hang them around their necks, or throw them away altogether, and walk for days at a time with bare feet, through mud whose tempera- ture is little above the freezing point. 1 Circular Letter of the Prison Department, No. 180. As the party, wet, tired, and hungry, ap- proaches one of the little log villages that lie along its route, the " starosta," or head man ap- pointed by the exiles to conduct their negotia- tions with the authorities, asks the convoy officer to allow them to sing the " begging song " as they pass through the settlement. The desired per- mission is granted ; certain prisoners are desig- nated to receive the expected alms ; the con- victs all remove their gray caps ; and entering the village with a slow, dragging step, as if they hardly had strength enough to crawl along, they begin their mournful appeal for pity. I shall never forget the emotions roused in me by this song when I heard it for the first time. We were sitting, one cold, raw, autum7 nal day, in a dirty post station on the great Siberian road, waiting for horses. Suddenly my attention w^as attracted by a peculiar, low- pitched, quavering sound which came to us from a distance, and which, although made apparently by human voices, did not resemble anything that I had ever before heard. It was not singing, nor chanting, nor wailing for the dead, but a strange blending of all three. It suggested vaguely the confused and commin- gled sobs, moans, and entreaties of human be- ings who were being subjected to torture, but whose sufferings were not acute enough to seek expression in shrieks or high-pitched cries. As the sound came nearer we went out into the street in front of the station-house and saw approaching a chained party of about a hun- dred bare-headed convicts, who, surrounded by a cordon of soldiers, were marching slowly through the settlement, singing the " exiles' begging song." No attempt was made by the singers to pitch their voices in harmony, or to pronounce the words in unison ; there were no pauses or rests at the ends of the lines ; and I could not make out any distinctly marked rhythm. The singers seemed to be constantly breaking in upon one another with slightly modulated variations of the same slow, melan choly air, and the effect produced was that of a rude fugue, or of a funeral chant, so arranged as to be sung like a round or catch by a hundred male voices, each independent of the others in time and melody, but all following a certain scheme of vocalization, and taking up by turns the same dreary, wailing theme. The words were as follows : Have pity on us, O our fathers ! Don't forget the unwilling travelers. Don't forget the long-imprisoned. Feed us, O our fathers — help us ! Feed and help the poor and needy ! Have compassion, O our fathers! Have compassion, O our mothers! For the sake of Christ, have mercy On the prisoners — the shut-up ones ! Behind walls of stone and gratings, 1 84 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD, \ i if 4 I \\ \ / ' 5 .i&^ «a :,^ ...ihli ii. I 4 ^'.*^f* - 3&i . Jii^ ^iii y J^ - ^H _ .' . ■fr Wi- 1* 'A .'«' c^ ^ ; • /, I I H . "l I' i * fir 1L[ , ■/, / V'"^, III ,,/ > 1 I ^ III 1 V i VKStTji ' y ■ -4. ' ^% ,' ',"' A BREAK FOR LIBERTY. < •? Behind oaken doors and padlocks, Behind bars and locks of iron, We are held in close confinement. We have parted from our fathers, From our mothers ; We from all our kin have parted, We are prisoners; Pitv us, O our fathers! If you can imagine these words, half sung, half chanted, slowly, in broken time and on a low key, by a hundred voices, to an accom- paniment made by the jingling and clash- ing of chains, you will have a faint idea of the " Miloserdnaya," or exiles' begging song. Rude, artless, and inharmonious as the appeal LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. 185 for pity was, I had never in my life heard any- thing so mournful and depressing. It seemed to be the half-articulate expression of all the grief, the misery, and the despair that had been felt by generations of human beings in the etapes, the forwarding prisons, and the mines. As the party marched slowly along the muddy street between the lines of gray log houses, children and peasant women appeared at the doors with their hands full of bread, meat, eggs, or other articles of food, which they put into the caps or bags of the three or four shaven-headed convicts who acted as alms- collectors. The jingling of chains and the wail- ing voices of the exiles grew gradually fainter and fainter as the paaty passed up the street, and when the sounds finally died away in the distance and we turned to reenter the post sta- tion, I felt a strange sense of dejection, as if the day had suddenly grown colder, darker, and more dreary, and the cares and sorrows of life more burdensome and oppressive. At the first preeval, or halt, that a party makes after passing through a village, the food that has been collected is distributed and eaten, and the convicts, somewhat refreshed, resume their march. Late in the evening they arrive, wet and weary, at an etape, where, after supper and the " pereklitchka," or roll- call, they are locked up in the close, unventi- lated kameras for the night. Most of them are in a shiver — or, as they sometimes call it, a " gypsy sweat "— from cold and from long ex- posure to rain; but they have neither dry clothing to put on nor blankets with which to cover themselves, and must lie down upon the hard plank nares, or upon the floor, and seek warmth in close contact with one another. Some of them have, perhaps, a change of cloth- ing in their gray linen bags, but both bags and clothing have been exposed for eight or ten hours to a pouring rain and are completely soaked through. If the Government really cared anything about the comfort or health of exiles on the road, it would furnish convoy officers with tarpaulins or sheets of oilcloth to put over and protect the exiles' baggage in rainy weather. This would add a mere trifle to the cost of exile transportation, and it would make all the difference between life and death to hundreds of weak or half-sick human beings, who come into an etape soaked to the skin after a march of twenty miles in a cold rain, and who have no dry clothing to put on. The very money spent for the burial of the poor wretches who die from croup, pleurisy, or pneumonia, as a result of sleeping in wet clothes on the road, would buy a substantial tarpaulin for every exile baggage wagon in Siberia — and yet the tarpaulins are not bought. Vol. XXXVIL— 26. If it be asked why, I can only say, because the officials who care have not the power, and the officials who have the power do not care. I went through Siberia with the words " Why so ? " and " Why not ? " upon my lips, and this, in effect, was the answer that I every- where received. " I have recommended again and again," said a high officer of the exile administration to me, " that the convicts be taken to their destinations in summer and in wagons, instead of being obliged to walk throughout the whole year. I have shown conclusively, by exact figures and carefully prepared estimates, that the transportation of exiles from Achinsk to Irkutsk in wagons, and in summer, would not only be infinitely more merciful and humane than the present method of forwarding them on foot the year round, but would actually cost fourteen rubles less per man, on account of the saving in time, food, and v/inter clothing." " Why then is it not done ? " I inquired. His only reply was a significant shrug of the shoulders. " I have repeatedly protested," said another exile officer, " against the acceptance, from dishonest contractors, of articles of exile cloth- ing that did not correspond with the specifixa- tion or the samples ; but I have accomplished nothing. Shoes so worthless that they fail to pieces in two days are accepted in place of the good shoes that ought to be furnished, and the exiles go barefooted. All that I can do is to lay before my superiors the facts of the case." While in the city of Irkutsk, I called one day upon Mr. Petroff", the acting-governor of the province, and found in his office Colonel Zagarin, the Inspector of Exile Transportation for Eastern S,iberia. The latter had brought to the governor some kottee, or exile shoes, that had just been accepted by the provincial administration, and was exhibiting them side by side with the original samples that had been furnished as models to the contractor. The accepted shoes did not resemble the models, they were perfectly worthless, and might have been made, I think, by the thou- sand, for ten or fifteen cents a pair. Colonel Zagarin was protesting against the acceptance of such shoes, and was asking for an invest!^ gation. The fraud was so manifest and so glaring, and the results of it would be so calamitous to thousands of poor wretches who would wear these kottee for a day or two and then be forced to walk barefooted over icy ground or through freezing mud, that I thought something would certainly be done about it. Upon my return from the mines of the Trans-Baikal five months later, I asked Colonel Zagarin what had been the result of i86 LIFE ON THE GREAT SIBERIAN ROAD. the protest that he had made to the governor in my presence. He repHed, " It had no result." " And were those shoes issued to marching exile parties ? " "They were." I asked no more questions, I could furnish, if there were space, innu- merable illustrations of the way in which the life of convicts on the road is made almost intoler- able by official indifference or fraud ; but it is perhaps unnecessary to do so. The results of that life are shown by the records of the hos- pitals and lazarets, and by the extraordinarily high rate of mortality in exile parties. Hun- dreds of prisoners, of both sexes and all ages, fall sick on the road, and after being carried for a week, or perhaps two weeks, in jolting telegas, are finally left to recover or to die in one of the etape lazarets between Achinsk and Irkutsk. It seems barbarous, and of course it is barbar- ous, to carry forward in a springless telega, regardless of weather, an unfortunate man or vv^oman who has been taken sick with pneu- monia or typhus fever on the road; but, un- der existing circumstances, there is nothing else for a convoy officer to do. He and his soldiers must go on with the exile party, and he can- not leave the sick for five days in a deserted etape wholly without attendance. He is forced, therefore, to carry them along until they either die or reach one of the widely separated laz- arets, where they can be left and cared for. Many times, on the great Siberian road, when I had been jolted until my pulse had become imperceptible at the wrist from weak- ness, sleeplessness, and incessant shocks to the spinal cord and the brain, and when it seemed to me that I could endure no more, I main- tained my grip by thinking of the hundreds of exiled men and women who, sick unto death, had been carried over this same road in open tel- egas; who had endured this same jolting while their heads ached and throbbed with the quick pulses of fever ; who had lain for many hours at a time on water-soaked straw in a pitiless storm while suffering from pneumonia; and who had nothing to sustain them except the faint hope of reaching at last some fever-in- fected lazaret. If men can bear all this, I thought, we ought not to complain of our triy- ial hardships, nor break' down under a little unusual fatigue. The sick who live to reach an etape lazaret 1 A feldsher is a sort of hospital steward, M^ho, in the absence of a regular surgeon, performs the latter's duties. 2 The distances between these etapes are as follows : Achinsk to Birusinskaya, 352 miles ; Birusinskaya to Sheragulskaya, 200 miles ; Sheragulskaya to Tiret- skaya, 90 miles; Tiretskaya to Irkutsk, 139 miles. A marching party of exiles makes, on an average, about 80 miles a week. may hope to die under shelter and in peace ; but, if the reports of the exile administration are to be trusted, they can hardly expect to be restored to health. Mr. Galkin-Vrasskoi, the Chief of the Prison and Exile Department, in an official report made recently to the Minister of the Interior, describes the condition of the laza- rets between Achinsk and Irkutsk as follows : Up to the year 1885 the lazarets necessary for the accommodation of exiles taken sick on the great exile road had not been built, nor had any provision been made for regular surgeons, or even for feldshers.l According to paragraph 5 of section 363 of the ''Laws relating to Exiles," it is the duty of civil and military surgeons, in places where etape officers are quartered, to examine the sick and give them necessary aid. Civil surgeons, however, do not live in etape villages, and army surgeons are found only at the etapes of Sheragulskaya, Birusinskaya, and Tiretskaya. In these places there are army lazarets with six beds each, for the accommodation of sick soldiers belonging to the convoy commands. All prisoners taken sick on the road between Achinsk and Irkutsk, up to the year 1885, have been treated at these three etapes 2 — not, however, in the army lazarets, but in the common cells of the etape build- ings. There they have been kept, not only without separation according to age, sex, or nature of disease, but without any of the conveniences and appliances that a lazaret should have. In the cells set apart for sick exiles there were neither nurses, nor hospi- tal linen, nor beds, nor bedding, nor even dishes for food. 3 A sick exile who reaclies one of the etapes named in this report, and who is put into a common prison cell where there are " neither nurses, nor hospital linen, nor beds, nor bed- ding, nor even dishes for food," cannot rea- sonably entertain a very sanguine expectation of recovery. Most of them do recover, but, nevertheless, the death rate in exile parties during their march from Tomsk to Irkutsk, if carried through an entire year, would amount to from 12 to 1 5 per cent.* It is not surprising that exiles sometimes en- deavor to escape from a life so full of miseries as this by making a break for liberty between etapes. The more experienced brodyags, or re- cidivists, generally try to get away by ex- changing names and identities with some forced colonist who is soon to i;pach his destination; but now and then two or three daring or des- perate convicts attempt to escape " with a hur- rah " — that is, by a bold dash through the line of soldiers. They are instantly fired upon, 3 Report of Mr. Galkin-Vrasskoi, Chief of the Prison and Exile Department, for the year 1885. 4 In 1883 seventy exiles died between Tomsk and Achinsk, in the course of a journey that occupies about 21 days. This rate of mortahty, if it had been main- tained for a year, would have resulted in the death of 121 7 exiles out of the whole number of 7865 making the journey. (Vide Report of the Inspector of Exile Trans- portation in Western Siberia for 1884, pp. 32, 33.) THE REORGANIZATION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 187 and one or more of them is usually brought to the ground. The soldiers have a saying that " A bullet will find a runaway," and a slug from a Berdan rifle is always the first messen- ger sent after a fugitive who tries to escape " with a hurrah." Now and then, when the party happens to be passing through a dense forest, the flying convicts get under cover so quickly that the soldiers can only fire into the bushes at random, and in such cases the run- aways make good their escape. As soon as they reach a hiding-place they free themselves from their leg-fetters by pounding the circular bands into long ellipses with a stone and slip- ping them over their heels, and then, while the convict party to which they belonged is making its way slowly eastward towards the mines, they themselves join some detachment of the great army of brodyags which is con- stantly marching westward through the woods in the direction of the Urals. George Keniian. THE REORGANIZATION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. the •HE development of Anglo-Saxon race, as we rather loosely call the peo- ple which has its home in the British Isles, has be- come, within the last cen- tury, the chief factor and central feature in human history. The flux of population, by which new and great centers of human activity are created, has been so overwhelmingly Anglo-Saxon that nearly all minor currents are absorbed and as- similated by it. In the new continents over which the race is spreading, the offshoots of other European families for the most part lose their identity, and tend to disappear in the dominant mass. Since it has found space on which to expand it has increased with great rapidity, and seems destined ultimately to surpass, in mere mass of numbers, any other branch of the human stock, while its com- parative influence is indefinitely increased by the singular individual energy of its members and the collective energy of its communities. Add to this the fact that it embodies the most aggressive moral forces and the most progres- sive political and social forces of the world, and we have suflicient grounds on which to predict for it a future of supreme interest, and infinitely greater than its past. The bifurcation of Anglo-Saxon national life which was caused by the American Rev- olution is now, after a hundred years, fully rec- ognized as the most important political event in modern history. Hitherto, the fact that it led to the foundation of the American republic has been considered an adequate measure of its vast significance. But immense though that fact is, it is now beginning to be clearly seen that the American Revolution has had another effect of at least equal significance and prob- able influence upon the world's future. It com- pelled Great Britain, by the stern teaching of experience, to master the true principles of col- onial government, and, as a consequence, to acquire the art of bringing her colonies into essential harmony wath the national life. The folly of so-called statesmen, which reft from Great Britain her first great offshoot, left un- touched the nation-building energy of her peo- ple, and around her has since grown up, in every quarter of the globe, a vast system of depend- encies, occupying an eighth of the earth's sur- face and embracing even now a considerable portion of the world's population, with a capa- city for enormous expansion. National devel- opment on such a scale is unparalleled in history, and must be pregnant with results. Already, as the process of expansion goes on, it has become manifest that this aggregation of states is slowly but surely outgrowing the system under which it was created. The question of its reconstruction or adaptation to new conditions is undoubtedly one of the greatest of the world- problems now coming up for solution. In one of his most striking poems Matthew Arnold speaks of England as The weary Titan, with deaf Ears, and labor-dimmed eyes, Staggering on to her goal, Bearing, on shoulders immense, Atlantean, the load Well-nigh not to be borne Of the too vast orb of her f^ite. It is not the poet's mind alone which is pro- foundly moved by this fact of Great Britain's vast expansion ; by the question of whether she will continue able to bear her enormous burden of empire. Statesmen have to face the fact in all its gravity ; nations in every quarter of the globe know that their future history depends, more than on anything else, on the answer given to the question. For the world at large, civi- i88 THE REORGANIZATION OE THE BRITISH EMPIRE. lized and uncivilized, there is not at present, in the whole range of possible political varia- tion, any question of such far-reaching signifi- cance as whether Great Britain shall remain a political unit, with effective energy equal to her actual and increasing greatness, or, yielding to some process of disintegration or dismember- ment, shall abdicate her present position of world-wide influence, and suffer the great cur- rent of her national life to be broken up into many separate channels. The growing influence, immense interests, and widening aspirations of the greater colo- nies — the commercial, legislative, and even social exigencies of the whole national system — make it clear that an answer to this great political problem cannot long be delayed. A profound m,ovement of thought upon the sub- ject has for the past few years been going on among British people in every part of the world. More recently, a great stimulus to dis- cussion has been given by the formation of the Imperial Federation League, a society un- official in its character, but guided or sup- ported by many of the best minds of the empire, and apparently destined to become a rallying- point for a strong national enthusiasm. Within a short time a remarkable change has come over public opinion in the British Isles themselves. Twenty years ago it almost seemed as if Great Britain was ready volun- tarily to throw away her vast colonial empire. A whole school of politicians favored the idea, and seemed to have gained the public ear. " The Times," supposed to reflect public opinion, claimed that England was paying too high a price for enjoying the luxury of colonial loyalty, and warned the colonies to prepare for the separation that was inevitable. John Bright's eloquence and Goldwin Smith's literary skill were alike employed in the same direction. Under such guidance, in- toxicated by the success of free trade, and indulging in dreams of a cosmopolitan future which it was to produce for the nations, the British people seemed for a time to look upon the colonies as burdens which entailed respon- sibilities without giving any adequate return. All this has now been changed. John Bright in England and Goldwin Smith in Canada still harp on the old string, but get no response from the popular heart, nor even from political parties. Great Britain has found that she still has to fight for her own hand, commercially and politically, and cannot afford to despise her natural allies. The vigor of colonial life, the expansion of colonial trade and power, the greatness of the part which the colonies are manifestly destined to take in affairs, have impressed even the slow British imagination. The integrity of the empire is fast becoming an essential article in the creed of all political par- ties. The idea appeals to the instincts of Great Britain's new democracy even more strongly than to the pride of her aristocracy, and wifh better reason, for the vast unoccupied areas of the empire in the colonies offer to the work- ingman a field of hope when the pressure at home has become too severe. Statesmen of the first rank, such as Earl Rosebery and the late W. E. Forster, have grasped the idea that national consolidation should form the supreme object of national policy, and have done what they could to develop the public sentiment which alone can make it such. The range of the national vision is widening; there is a tendency to look beyond the old ruts of Eu- ropean diplomacy to the nobler work and larger destiny opened up in the Greater Britain beyond the sea. To the development of this wider view the growth of the United States has contributed largely. It has illustrated on a large scale the expansive energy of our race where the condi- tions are favorable. It has enlarged our con- ception' of Anglo-Saxon self-governing capac- ity. It has shown that an unparalleled impulse to a nation's life may be given by vast breadth of territory with variety of climate and produc- tion. On the other hand, the British people see in the American Union proof that immense territorial extent is not incompatible, under modern conditions, wfth that representative system of popular government which had its birth and development in England and its most notable adaptation in America. They are beginning to believe that their political system will safely bear the strain of still further adap- tation to wider areas, if the welfare or neces- sities of the empire demand a change. That they will demand it is a proposition now become so evident that it scarcely requires proof. The home population of Great Britain, which alone exercises national functions in their broadest sense, and bears the full burden of national re- sponsibilities, is about thirty-five millions. This number has practically reached its outside limit of expansion. The Anglo-Saxon population of the empire abroad is already about eleven mill- ions, and is increasing rapidly. It is a popu- lation which has already grouped itself into communities of national extent, self-governing, self-reliant, progressive, and with a clear sense of the large place which they are destined to fill in the world. The time cannot be very far distant when, by tlie flux of population and the process of growth, their numbers will equal or surpass those of the people of the British Isles. There can be no question that long before that period has arrived a readjustment of functions and responsibilities will be essen- tial to the maintenance of the empire as a po- THE REORGANIZATION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 189 litical unit. The British people at home cannot continue to bear alone the increasing burden of imperial duties. Great communities like Australia or Canada would disgrace the tradi- tions of the race if they remained permanently content with anything short of an equal share in the largest possible national life. For both mother land and colonies that largest life will unquestionably be found in organic national unity. The weight of public sentiment through- out the empire is at present strongly in favor of such unity, and national interest recom- mends it. It is perhaps hard for Americans, imbued with traditions of the struggle by which their country threw off the yoke of an oppressive English government, to understand how com- pletely, and for what strong reasons, the relations between Great Britain and her present colonies are those of profound sympathy and warm af- fection. The mother land regards with natural pride the energy which is planting free politi- cal institutions and extending civilization in so many quarters of the globe ; which is opening up such vast areas of virgin soil for British oc- cupation, and which, by so doing, is preparing for her a solution of the difficult problem press- ing upon her at home from dense population and limited land— a solution such as no other of the overcrowded nations of Europe can hope for. To the richness of her own past the colo- nies open a boundless vista of hope for the fu- ture. The colonies, on the other hand, feel equally proud of their unbroken connection with the grand traditions of the mother land. Little has occurred to mar the strength of this sentimental attachment. They have enjoyed the advantages of being members of a great empire without, as yet, bearing the severer weight of its burdens. All the perfect freedom of self-government for which they have asked has been ungrudgingly allowed. The popula- tion which is flov/ing into their waste lands comes chiefly from the mother country — not driven out by religious persecution or political tyra„nny, but the overflow of a fecund race, im- pelled by the spirit of enterprise, or in search of the larger breathing-space of new continents. In almost every case they come to strengthen the loyalty of the colony. The emigrant is en- couraged or even assisted in leaving the old Britain ; he is heartily welcomed in the new Britain beyond the seas. For generations after- wards his descendants speak, of" going home" without feeling it necessary to explain that by " home " they mean England, Scodand, or Ire- land. Great Britain's new colonial policy has thus given a new cohesion to the empire. Even in the case of a distinct race, with strong race instincts, it has achieved a marked success. French- Canadians are not only content with their pohtical condition, but warmly loyal to British connection. Their greatest statesman emphasized, but scarcely exaggerated, this at- titude of mind when he described himself as an Englishman speaking French. So high an authority as Cardinal Manning told m.e not long since that French- Canadian bishops and clergy had over and over again assured him that their people were practically a unit in pre- ferring British to French connection. There is no doubt that in respect of either religious freedom or political security the preference is justified. The lapse of years brings into stronger relief the truth of Montalembert's remark, that the Frenchmen of Canada had gained under British rule a freedom which the Frenchmen of France never knew. With this sentiment, which makes unity pos- sible, the national interest coincides. For the colonies the alternative is independence, when, as small and struggling nationalities, they will have to take their place in a world which has developed distinct tendencies towards the ag- glomeration of immense states, and where absorption or comparative insignificance can alone await them. For Great Britain the choice is between amalgamating permanently in some way her strength and resources with those of the colonies, or abdicating the relatively fore- most place which she now holds among the nations. The growth in population of the United States and the expansion of Russia are already beginning to dwarf by comparison all other nations. Those confined to Europe will, within the next fifty years, be out of the first rank. Great Britain alone, with unlimited room for healthful expansion on other continents, has the possibility of a future equal to the greatest; has the chance of retaining her hegemony as a ruling and civilizing power. Should she throw away the opportunity, her history will be one of arrested development. The process by which her vast colonial empire has come to her has been one of spontaneous growth, the outcome of a decisive national tendency. By inherent inclination the Anglo-Saxon is a trader. The character is one of which we need not feel ashamed. It has been found to consist in our history, with all the fighting energy of the Roman and much of the intellectual energy of the Greek. It does not seem incompati- ble with the moral energy of Christianity, and furnishes the widest opportunity for its exer- cise. It has been under the impulse of this trading instinct that Great Britain has founded empire ; to satisfy it, she must maintain empire. Among all the nations of the earth she stands in the unique position of owning by undisputed right immense areas of territory under every climate on the globe, and hence produces, or can pro- 190 THE REORGANIZATION OE THE BRITISH EMPIRE. duce, within her own national boundaries, all the raw materials of commerce. As civilization becomes more complex and more diffused, the products of every clime are, in an increasing ratio, laid under contribution to supply its mani- fold wants. Every step towards the complete national assimilation of so widespread an em- pire must favor the free exchange of commodi- ties, with the necessary result of stimulating productive energy and developing latent re- sources. Every expansion of trade makes the security of trade a matter of increasing impor- tance. For a race of traders, scattered over all quarters of the globe, peace, made secure by resting on organized power, is a supreme in- terest. The best guarantee of permanent peace that the world could have would be the con- solidation of a great oceanic empire, the inter- ests of whose members would lie chiefly in safe commercial intercourse. For filling such a place in the world Great Britain's position is absolutely unique among the nations of history. She holds the chief key to the commerce of the East in the passes of the Mediterranean and the Red seas. She commands an alterna- tive route by the Cape of Good Hope. Across Canada she has yet a third, giving her for many purposes a still closer connection with the extreme East than do the other two. The geographical distribution of the coal areas un- der her control, and the defended or defensible harbors suitable for coaling stations contiguous to them, are among the most remarkable ele- ments in her incomparable resources for prose- cuting or protecting commerce in an age of steam. Already in electric connection with al- most every important point in her dominions, her telegraph system only awaits the laying of the proposed cable from British Columbia to Australasia to make that connection complete without touching on foreign soil. Her widely separated provinces and outlying posts of vantage are thus effectively in touch for mutual support, more than the parts of any of the great nations of the past. She thus unites the comprehensiveness of a world-wide empire with a relative compactness secured by that practical contraction of our planet which has taken place under the combined influences of steam and electricity. No other nation has ever had — it is well-nigh impossible to be- lieve that any other nation ever will have — so commanding a position for exercising the functions of what we have called an oceanic empire, interested in developing and able to protect the commerce of the world. The ques- tion of whether she shall permanently retain this position is one of profound international as well as national concern. Above all, for the United States, as a great trading community, kindred in race, language, and, speaking very broadly, in national purpose, it must have a deep and abiding interest. The political writers of the past century, from De Tocqueville onward, have been accus-* tomed to draw from the American Revolution the confident inference that the natural ten- dency of colonies is towards separation from the mother land ; that the growth of local in- terests and feelings of independence make new communities detach themselves, like ripe fruit, from the parent stem. If the birth of the Amer- ican republic gave strength to this inference, its growth has done much to dissipate the idea. The development of the United States has proved that the spread of a nation over vast areas, including widely separated States with diverse interests, need not prevent it from becoming strongly bound together in a politi- cal organism which combines the advantages of national greatness and unity of purpose with jealously guarded freedom of local self-govern- ment. This is in part due to the amazing change which has been effected in the mutual relation of the world's inhabitants by improved means of speedy intercourse. Steam and electricity have re-created the world, and on a more ac- cessible scale. Canada, or even Australia, is now much closer to the center of the British Empire for all practical purposes than were the Western and Pacific States to Washington forty years ago ; nearer even than Scotland was to London one hundred years ago. Under these new conditions there is no sufiicient reason for doubting that an empire like that of Great Britain can be held together in bonds as secure as those which bind together great continental states like the United States and Russia, pro- vided that the elements of true national Hfe are present, as they certainly are in this case. The federation of Great Britain and her col- onies would only be an extension of what has already been done on a large scale. The United States are a federation, Germany is a federa- tion, each designed by its framers to obviate the difficulties incident to the administration of a congeries of small states, and for great ends to secure unity of national action. The problem before Great Britain is different, but would seem to be incomparably less difficult than that involved in either of the two cases referred to. In Germany, dynasties and states whose individual existence had been carefully preserved and fondly cherished for centuries long presented an apparently insuperable bar- rier to union, effected at last only under the strong pressure of external danger and in the enthusiasm of a great and successful struggle for race supremacy. Every student of Amer- ican history knows the violent prejudices which had to be overcome and the extraordinary ef- fort which it required to organize and gain THE REORGANIZATION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 191 acceptance for the Federal Constitution, even after the War of Independence had demon- strated the necessity for united action on the part of the various States. Sectional jealousies and rivalries have never been developed to a corresponding extent in the various provinces of the British Empire. For them federation would only be recasting and making more permanent a union which already exists, though under imperfect conditions. Besides this, the operation of the federal principle is now more thoroughly understood; its advantages have been gauged and its difficulties grappled with. The freedom of self-government long enjoyed by the great colonies has developed a strong feeling of local independence ; but it has also been the best of all preparations for a wider political organization. Canada and Australia are to-day as jealous of imperial interference with local legislation as is any State in the Union of unjustified Federal assumptions. But as their autonomy in the control of their own affairs has become admitted and assured, they look without suspicion on the idea of combina- tion having for its purpose the accomplishment of great national ends. These ends have be- come more manifest with the spread of their commerce to every part of the world, and with the manifold multiplication of national inter- ests. Questions of peace and war : the safety of the great ocean routes; the adjustment of international differences ; the relations of trade, currency, communication, emigration — in all these their concern is already large, and be- comes larger from year to year. In dealing with all such questions their voice, as com- ponent parts of a great empire, will be far more efficient than as struggling independent na- tionalities. That voice is, in a measure, given to them now by courtesy, and as a necessary concession to their growing importance; but for permanent nationality it must be theirs by ordinary right of citizenship, through full in- corporation into the political system of the state, so far as relations with other states are concerned. Those who believe it impracticable to give unity of this kind to the empire un- derestimate the strength of the influences which make for the continuity of national life. On this continent we see to-day a sufficiently striking illustration of this strength. We can easily understand that it requires no very marked natural boundary to form a permanent line of separation between nations which differ in language, religion, and descent, as in the case of European states. But in America an almost purely arbitrary line of division has for more than a century served sharply to separate into two nationalities, and across the breadth of a continent, two peoples who are of the same origin, speak the same language, study the same literature, and are without any decisive distinc- tions of religious creed. The admitted present loyalty of Canada has deepened and matured through a long series of years when the United States were sweeping past them in a career of prosperity almost without example in history, and when union with them seemed as if it would secure for Canada an equal share of ail the prosperity that they enjoyed. The bias of national life has been so strong that neither geographical facts nor commercial tendencies have weakened the national bond. Nor are they more likely to do so now that Canada has, by the opening up of her great western provinces, manifestly entered upon a like period of development. In spite of this evidence of a century's his- tory Mr. Goldwin Smith still argues that trade interests will ultimately draw Canada into po- litical connection with the United States, and apparently does not understand why his opinion is rejected with indignation by the vast major- ity of Canadians. Yet it seems impossible to conceive how, without a debasement of pubhc sentiment quite unparalleled in history, a people whose history began in loyalty to British in- stitutions, who through a hundred years have been sheltered by British power, who under that rule have attained and enjoyed the most complete political and religious liberty, wdio have constantly professed the most devoted regard for a mother land with which they are connected by a thousand ties of affectionate sympathy, should deliberately, in cold blood, and for commercial reasons only, break that connection and join themselves to a state in whose history and traditions they have no part. They would incur, and unquestionably would deserve, alike the contempt of the people they abandon and of the people they join. In a Great Britain reorganized as a federation, or union, or alliance, Canada would hold an hon- orable place, gained on lines of true national development; in annexation to the United States she could have nothing but a bastard nationality, the offspring of either meanness, selfishness, or fear. What is thus true of Canada is true of the other British colonies as wxll. The forces which make for unity and continuity of na- tional life are not only strong, but noble and natural. The argument for unity may be carried to still higher ground. A strong impulse has un- questionably been given to national effort and earnestness, both in Great Britain and the United States, by the prevailing conviction that Anglo-Saxon civilization is a thing distinct in it- self and with a mission in the world. Granting the truth of this, we must also grant that any hinderance to the safe and free development of 19: THE REORGANIZATION OE THE BRITISH EMPIRE. that civilization in either of its two great cur- rents would be to the world's loss. In the United States, through its isolation, it seems comparatively secure to deal with the complex problem, weighted with grave anxieties, which it has to solve in the assimilation and elevation of confluent races. Great Britain's task, more diversified and world-wide, seems burdened with even greater responsibilities, and not free from great dangers. The enormous expansion and persistent ambition of at least one great des- potic power, the possibility of combinations a&'ainst her such as she has had to face before but may not be able again to cope with single- handed, point to the necessity for national con- solidation if she is to have that prestige of na- tional power which commands peace, or if she is to form a sufficient bulwark for the free in- stitutions to which she has given birth in many lands. Great Britain, again, has assumed vast re- sponsibilities in the government of weak and alien races— responsibilities which she cannot now throw off, even if she wish to, without a loss of national honor. With increasing force the public conscience insists that her rule shall be for the good of the ruled ; none deny that the rem^oval of her sway, in Asia and Africa at least, would result in wide-spread anarchy. But her task is herculean. An empire which has leaning upon it an In- dian population of two hundred and forty mill- ions over and above the native races of Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and many minor regions must require, if stability and equilibrium are to be permanently main- tained, an immense counterbalancing weight of that trained, intelligent, and conscientious citi- zenship which is the backbone of national strength. Standing face to face, as she does to-day, with almiost every uncivilized and unchristian race on the globe, Great Britain needs to con- centrate her moral as well as her political strength for the work she has to do. Neither British statesmen nor British Christians can afford to lose one fraction of the moral energy which is becoming centralized in the great colonies. Great Britain's political unity and dominance are to the spread of religion in Africa, Asia, and the Pacific now what Rome's political unity and dominance were to the spread of rehgion in the days of St. Paul. The fact that the flag of a firmly organized oceanic state will everywhere give the greatest safety to the missionary wifl, without doubt, ulti- mately throw the whole weight of Christian thought throughout the British world towards the support of permanent national unity. The sympathy of Christian thought in America ought to and will reenforce this influence. Working out on separate and yet parallel lines the great problems of liberty and of ci-^fil and rehgious progress, the United States and Great Britain have the strongest reasons for sympathizing with each other's efforts to con- solidate and perfect the national machinery by which their aims are to be accom,plished. Great Britain now understands and respects the mo- tives which actuated the resolute and success- ful struggle of the American people against disruption. A nation w^hich suffered and sac- rificed so much for unity as did the United States can assuredly understand and sympathize with the strong desire for national consolida- tion vv^hich is now spreading throughout the British Empire. It has long been a Saxon boast that while other races require to be governed, we are able to govern ourselves. To this kingly power, in every stage of our development, new and more comprehensive tests have been applied. From the organization of the parish or county to that of States which span a continent this self-governing capacity has not yet failed to find the political device adapted to the po- litical necessity. It would now seem that the British people stand face to face with the ul- timate test to which this ability can be put. Have they the grasp of political genius to es- tablish permanently oii a basis of mutual ben- efit and organic unity the empire which they have had the energy to create ? When a great nation ceases to advance, or loses control of the problems involved in its own growth, we can safely say that decadence has begun. Nations as well as individuals find their true place when challenging their highest destiny, provided this be along the lines of natural development. But beyond these gen- eral reasons there are others of present and pressing weight which will soon compel the British people to grapple resolutely with this great political problem. The increasing pres- sure and unequal distribution of national bur- dens, the inability of Parliament to unite the management of imperial aftairs with local leg- islation, the immense strides in arts or arms made by rival nations, the widening aspira- tions of the great colonies — these are but a few among many influences by which is being developed that weight of opinion which forces questions forward into the sphere of practical politics, compels statesmen to find some form of expression for the public will, and for the attainment of great ends makes masses of peo- ple willing to forget minor differences. George R. Parki?i. FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. ""^ HE traveler who en- deavors to work out the topography of the He- brew migration from Egypt to the Promised Land finds himself en- gaged in disentangling a very puzzling skein. He may progress so finely as to satisfy himself that Mr. Ebers and others are en- tirely wrong in giving Jebel Serbal the honor of being the true Sinai ; he may be very sure that Professor Baker Green's argument that the Hebrews crossed the desert in a direct easterly course until they came to the head of the Gulf of Akabah — where he locates Elim — is fallacious; again, he may contentedly accept the route followed in " Sinai THE CAVE OF MACHPELAH. be lost again, and our traveler is quite will- ing to join the cry which has been sounded all over the world for many centuries, " Where is Kadesh ? " We must accept tradition, and follow what has been, in a measure, satisfactorily disentan- gled for us. In doing this we leave a large, con- fused mass of testimony behind. We simply take up a thread, follow it awhile, then break our connection and proceed with another. The departure from Mount Sinai, whether for Petra or for Palestine, is usually made by way of the Wady es Sheik, the wide mouth of which enters the Sinai valley nearly opposite to "Aaron's Hill," or the "Hill of the Golden Calf." The denuded peaks lift themselves upon each side of this valley, just as they do east and west of the plain of Er Raha. The lack of foliage, however, is more than compen- / 1 ' vf; '"-''"'. 'V-- Sf.' • • c'v* '■^jt.-s?- ' fern.- -^"'1% -"---*-" -f- - ■ •"'^-^ ■,» jJ-M'f'*2'^'^ ■ .'."^^^ /y JEBEL HAROUN, OR THE " HILL OF THE GOLDEN CALF. and the Wilderness." i Yet after his arrival at sated for by the wonderful display of color. It the foot of Aaron's Hill the thread is likely to rivals that of the Wady Gharandel, over on 1 The Century Magazine, July, i888. the Red Sea side of the peninsula. At one Vol. XXXVIL— 27. 194 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. place there is a noble, cone-shaped mountain of fawn-colored, red, and brown sandstone, with another adjoining of black and green dio- rite ; while rolling down between them like a cataract is a wide incline of bluish-gray sand. Here and there are sharp crags and jagged peaks, with their depressions filled nearly to their edges with sand, as in Nubia, only here the sand is not of such golden tint as there. Frequently the lower rock-surfaces are cov- ered with Sinaitic inscriptions. Many of these " writings " look like the tracery of some an- tique humorist, for the figures are mainly of grotesquely formed animals. At frequent inter- vals the floor of Wady es Sheik is as brilliantly colored as the mountains are ; and though zig- zagging, like the sky-lines of its peaks, it is as level as a diligence road over the Alps. It must have been a glorious sight when Israel was mustered here and marched along in full array towards the Promised Land — the sons of Aaron at the head, bearing the two sil- ver trumpets that had been made for the im- pending journey. This assembling seems very recent to the traveler when on camel-back he starts before sunrise and moves slowly up the Wady es Sheik. It seems even more recent when, turn- ing back, he sees the banks of floundering clouds, impelled by the winding air currents, come up from the Sinai group. Every foot of the way becomes a sublime study, and every rift in the mist seems to disclose pages of history. The second day after leaving camp at Mount Sinai the clues become entangled again, and once more we are forced to break the connec- tion. After the murmuring ones had died and were buried at Kibroth-hattaavah, the Israel- ites " encamped at Hazeroth." The location of Hazeroth is pretty well verified at a place on the direct route to Akabah. After two days of travel from Mount Sinai the traveler comes to a wide-reaching line of hills which seems to stretch along in the shadows of the evening like a city wall. These hills form one side of a plain where Hazeroth is believed to have been located. Here we encamped. Long be- fore reaching it we had been watched by a garrison of greedy vultures stationed on the top of the rocky outpost. Their presence could not have been discovered before morning had not some of the number, more uneasy than their comrades, risen into the last departing rays of the sunset, swooped around for a mo- ment, and then clumsily dropped like lead into the shadows again. The evening meal was made ready and eaten here, and the old, fa- miliar songs were sung to drive away home- longings. At early candlelight the weary des- ert-travelers crept into their tents and lay down to rest and sleep. Such is the experience of all who spend the night under the long wall which protects one side of the gorge of 'Ain Hudhera. When the morning comes the top of the wall must be gained, and the traveler changes places with the vultures ; for as soon as he vacates his camp, they swirl down to it with the hope of finding some morsels of food. It is diflicult to find a greater surprise than that which delights the eye when, after an hour of hard cHmbing, the top of one of the neighboring hills is reached. To the right is a broad, natural stairw^ay which winds down for the distance of two hundred feet. Its sides are lined with fluted and spiral columns, the depressions of which are colored red, yellow^ lilac, and blue, and now and then are wavy like the stones of Petra. Beyond, and interven- ing, are numberless peaks, — red, white, brown, greenish-gray tipped with red, yellow, reddish- brown covered a part of the way up with white sand, pink, and umber, — all in strange contrast with the greater shapes of solid brown and gray. One of the most beautifully formed peaks is of light green, tipped with bright brick-red. The floor of this many-hued pas- sageway is white sand and sandstone, waved here and there with lilac, yellow, and red. Near the center are two bright oases, with groves of palms, rice fields, and patches of lentils. Several walled wells are there, fed by the springs and subterranean aqueducts which convey water from the mountains on the west. In some places the aqueducts are uncovered. They are partly cut from, the native rock and partly lined with slabs of quarried stone: It must have cost much labor and enterprise to construct them, and do they not tell that many people dwelt there once upon a time ? A rare scene was presented when our caravan halted in the gorge of 'Ain Hudhera and the trav- elers were made welcome to water by the old sheik who resides there. He declared • that he was over one hundred years old, and showed his hospitality by brushing the sand from the palm-logs around the well "to make a place for the stranger." This is believed to be the site of the Hazeroth of the Israelites. Passing through this gorge, one gains the impression that it must have been the bed of a lake. Surely the water must have built up the strata of color which, lying one upon the other, form some of the domes and mountains. This surmis.e is confirmed when the northern extremity is approached, for there some very curious formations are found. Among others there is a sandstone column about twelve feet high, shaped at the top like an Egyptian capital. Overhanging it and reaching down two or three feet is a coral-like formation which gives it a very fantastic appearance. The column is striped vertically in red, brown, yellow, and FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 195 •^W,^ THE GORGE OF AIN HUDHERA fawn colors, while the capital is of deli- cate gray, varied by lilac and white. It stands there alone, the speechless evi- dence of some mysterious effort of Nature, hard to understand. Lateral waves of color also run through it and add to its singular beauty. Its background is a water-sculptured wall, colored by the mineral wealth of generous Nature. It seems like a petrified pillar of cloud and of fire. The gorge spoils one for the enjoyment of the broad piazza — the Wady el 'Ain — into which it leads. Its sculptured glories and its lovely fountains are truly wonderful. A half- day's journey — say a dozen miles — -from Hazeroth, over an unusually level way, on the left, is an ascending wady between two lines of mountains. It is carpeted by sandstone the color of clover blossoms. Green bushes dotted here and there pre- sent a lovely picture. Nature was in a freak- the gate a magnificent wall of granite rises ish convulsion when she set this part of her almost perpendicularly and seems to form the stage. On the other side of the wady, the end of the wady ; but it does not. There is rosy carpet of which lies outspread as soft as a clear passage to the right which leads to a an Axminster, are two lofty mountains of pink bright oasis located on the direct route to the granite. Their bases come so closely to- Gulf of Akabah. Did Moses lead his hosts gether that the space between them scarcely one by one through this narrow pass ? Did admits the passage of two loaded camels these rough walls reecho the murmurings of abreast. A great rock divides the way. It Hebrew discontent ? Tradition holds that they has stood there as sentinel for ages. This is did. The Book says, " And they departed from " the entrance-gate " to Wady el 'Ain (" the Hazeroth, and . . . encamped at Ezion-ga- wady with the fountain or spring "). Beyond ber." Ezion-gaber is supposed to have been 196 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. "the entrance-gate" to wady el 'ain. located at the head of the Gulf of Akabah. Between the two places there are seventeen stations, named in Numbers xxxiii., where "they encamped." It would be the natural thing to follow up the thread, but the order of our purpose compels us to stop here and pick up another clue. At some future time we may be able to resume the "long desert" route, follow it on through the Mount Seir region, and connect with the leader which comes out at the entrance to Petra.^ " The people removed from Hazeroth and pitched in the wilderness of Paran," which is " the wilderness of Zin, which is Kadesh." And where is Kadesh ? Learned travelers and 1 The Century Magazine, November, 1885. students have located it at nearly twenty places. Dean Stanley and his followers believed that Petra is Kadesh; Dr. Edward Robinson much earlier expressed his conviction that it is at 'Ain el Weibeh, in a region about two days' camel journey west of Petra, on the edge of the vast wady which stretches from the Gulf of Akabah to the Dead Sea. Many years ago claims were made by Dr. Rowlands for 'Ain Qadees, an oasis still farther west than 'Ain el Weibeh, and south of it. This last site has been proved by Dr. H. Clay Trumbull to hold the best evidences of being the much sought- for locality. The story of his visit thither, and the full measure of his proofs, Dr. Trum- bull sets forth earnestly and eloquently in his FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 197 monograph, published in 1884, entitled " Ka- desh-Barnea." Only those who have wandered in the desert as he did, with the strain of a single idea controlling every nerve, can fully understand the joy which he felt when coming upon a site so long sought for. I am permitted to quote his own words : Out from the barren and desolate stretch of the burning desert waste we had come with a magical suddenness into an oasis of verdure and beauty, un- looked for and hardly conceivable in such a region. A carpet of grass covered the ground. Fig trees, laden with fruit nearly ripe enough for eating, were along the shelter of the southern hillside. Shrubs and flovv'ers showed themselves in variety and pro- fusion. Running water gurgled under the waving grass. We had seen nothing like it since leaving Wady Fayran ; nor was it equaled in loveliness of scene by any single bit of landscape, of like extent, even there. Standing out from the earth-covered limestone hills at the north-eastern sweep of this picturesque recess was to be seen the "large single mass, or a small hill of solid rock," which Rowlands looked at as the cliff \Scl a'\ smitten by Moses, to cause it to "give forth his water," when its flowing stream had been exhausted. From underneath this ragged spur of the north-easterly mountain range issued the now abundant stream. A circular well, stoned up from the bottom with timeworn limestone blocks, was the first receptacle of the water. A marble watering-trough was near this well, better finished than the troughs at Beer- sheba, but of like primitive workmanship. The mouth of this well was only about three feet across, and the water came to within three or four feet of the top. A little distance westerly from this well, and down the slope, was a second well, stoned up much like the first, but of greater diameter; and here again was a marble watering-trough. A basin or pool of water larger than either of the wells, but not stoned up like them, was seemingly the princi- pal watering-place. It was a short distance south- westerly from the second well, and it looked as if it and the two wells might be supplied from the same subterranean source — the springs under the rock. Around the margin of this pool, as also around the stoned wells, camel and goat dung — as if of flocks and herds for centuries — was trodden down and commingled with the limestone dust so as to form a solid plaster-bed. Another and yet larger pool, lower down the slope, was supplied with water by a stream which rippled and cascaded along its nar- row bed from the upper pool; and yet beyond this, westward, the water gurgled away under the grass, as we had met it when we came in, and finally lost itself in the parching wady from which this oasis opened. The water itself was remarkably pure and sweet, unequaled by any we had found after leav- ing the Nile. There was a New England look to this oasis, es- pecially in the flowers and grass and weeds, quite unlike anything we had seen in the peninsula of Sinai. A year after Dr. Trumbull's visit, while jour- neying from Petra to Palestine with the same dragoman who accompanied him, I crossed the Wady Arabah with the hope of finding 'Ain Qadees and bringing away some photo- graphs of it. Nearly the whole of the route taken had " never been traveled over by white man," and was through a country where the Bedouin tribes were " at war with each other." One afternoon while I was in Petra a noble- looking Bedouin came riding in alone on horseback. He seemed very much at home, and very superior to the demons whose tor- ments I endured there for four days. He proved to be Sheik Ouida, from Gaza, and was the tax-gatherer for the Government. His errand to Petra was to collect the annual tax due upon the sheep, goats, and camels — includ- ing the stolen ones— then in the possession of the Petra Bedouins. He declared that he had "seen 'Ain Qadees, from the top of a hill, more than once when on the journey homeward from Petra," and volunteered to act as our escort thither. His services were thereupon engaged for four days, at two pounds sterling per day. In due course we set out upon the search. Our contract with the Akabah sheik was to go by Nakl and Gaza, but we persuaded his men to follow our wishes at our risk. It was a dreary camel ride across the Arabah. There was little to divert us except the Gaza escort, who " played " with his horse frequently for our entertainment. The short, sagacious animal could gallop uphill as easily as he could go down, and was well drilled in the exercises of the tournament. He had a decided advantage over the camel. Sometimes he and his rider would fly over the hill ahead, and get beyond our sight. When we reached the summit of the rise they had crossed, we would see them standing upon the top of another one far away. We could tell our own guide by the manner in which he held his long spear, a signal agreed upon between us. After our conflict with the fellahin at Petra we were somewhat apprehensive of an attack. More- over, we were in an unknown country, where the Bedouins were said to be at war. Watchful- ness, then, was incumbent. Once Sheik Ouida came galloping back to us with the report that a company of Bedouins who were not "sahib " (" friendly ") were coming. They came, but they exchanged salutations wdth us without offering to molest us or our Akabah attendants. Indeed, both parties seemed glad to get away. When in doubt as to his direction, our guide planted his spear among the rocks on the hill- top, made his horse fast to it, and descended into the valley on foot, " to save the horse, who might become too thirsty." At other times, when he found the way too rough for his red-topped boots, he planted his spear where we could see it, and rode until he 198 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. reached a neighboring hill to reconnoiter. In this way we were guided along the proper road, and made to feel comfortable at all times, from the fact that our cautious leader never permitted himself to be long out of our sight; or, if he did, he left some signal in view to prove that he was never unmindful of our welfare. Thus we were confident of being as There also is a fountain or well, very small and very shallow, sunk in the mother rock. This is 'Ain el Weibeh, the place considered by Dr. Edward Robinson to be Kadesh-Barne^, where Moses was commanded to speak to a rock for water (Numbers xx.); where Miriam died ; where Moses and Aaron, within sight of the mountains, which some of the Hebrews AIN EL WEIBEH. safe as possible, and were content to go on, even through a country known to be infested by tribes of Bedouins unfriendly to those from the Akabah country, as were our attendants. On the morning of the third day the scenery began to grow more beautiful. The sun had crossed the hills of Edom and was doing his best to bring out the gaudy colors of Zin. To the north the mountains of Moab rose splen- didly, and it was so clear, that, had we been at a sufficient elevation, we could have seen the Dead Sea. Standing like a sentinel between the two ranges, topped by the tomb of Aaron, was "Jebel Haroun," the Mount Hor of the Mo- hammedans. We had encamped near the west- ern border of the Arabah. At 9 o'clock a. m. we came to a bright oasis, where our guide stood crying out, " Moya henna " (" Water here "). It is a long, narrow, green spot, with an abun- dance of scrub-palms, reeds, rushes, grasses, and shrubs growing about it, wild and thick. tried to pass over in or^ier to reach the longed- for country, were told that they should not see the Promised Land. But a short distance away from the well is a mound covered with juniper bushes. This is revered by the Bedouins as '' the grave of Miriam." The adjacent soil is crusty, like newly frozen snow, and breaks easily under the foot. Although the water here is unusually sportive on account of the animal life in it, — " living water " in a truly realistic sense, — and so bitter to the taste that no one could censure Israel for murmuring, we were obliged to fill our water-skins with a two-days' supply, for we knew not when we should find any better. What we left was entirely taken up by the camels, and 'Ain el Weibeh became an ex- hausted spring. More than once it happened to us that the tiny spring happily found on the way did not afford enough for man and beast. When there w^as abundance, it was usual for FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. THE "holy tree" NEAR THE BORDERS OF CANAAN. all to kneel down at the little stream and drink side by side. Oasis hunting sometimes becomes an earnest business with the desert traveler, and he fully understands the value of the precious element. Frequently the route is left for half a day to reach water. ^ Where the wells of our long-sighted ancestors still exist, the traveler is allowed to drink what he needs during his sojourn, but not to carry any away, except by purchase. To " pay for water" at first seems an injustice; and yet, when fairly considered, it will appear right, for the' supply is not always ample. It is some- times quite a risk to allow any one to draw two or three barrels of water from a well, especially when it maybe six or eight months before the heavens will visit the land with anything like a cloud-break. In a desert journey of forty-five days during March and April, I saw but two " showers," and the longer was only forty-five seconds in duration. Again, when Moses was directed for his long journey in the Mount Seir region, among other things the Divine dictum en- joined (Deuteronomy ii. 6), " Ye shall buy meat of them for money, that ye may eat ; and ye shall also buy water of them for money, that ye may drink." So it will seem that this old-time custom is still fol- lowed, and the desert traveler must submit without murmuring. There was no evidence that the dreary re- gion round about 'Ain el Weibeh had been inhabited, and it would require a great deal of faith to believe that it ever was. Even the stones about the well had all been arranged by Nature, and not by man. It was the only place thereabout that could be thought of as Kadesh-Barnea, because there was no other water visible in any direction. Such a spot could not satisfy any one Avho had any faith in Almighty mercy. The heat was intense, and our departure 1 Sometimes I have been shown these places only on condition that I would " not tell anybody." was hastened. Soon after 'Ain el Weibeh is left behind, the country westward begins to rise and the forms and outlines ofthe mountains become beautiful. At one spot a dead but " holy tree " was found, the denuded limbs of which added to the picturesqueness of one of our halting- places. Ouida declared that " It was there when Moses came alone:." Our camel-men 200 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. protested when we prepared to carry away some of the fragments which were scattered over the gromid. " It is all holy," they said, " and can be removed by Allah only." A pass in the hills beyond, called " Nagb Weibeh," was pointed out as " the place where the spies of Moses passed through." Lunch that day was eaten under a huge pomegranate tree ; this was full of blossoms, though almost leafless. At night we encamped in a great amphitheater, as nearly circular in form as if it had been quarried so. I repeatedly inquired of Ouida how near we were to 'Ain Qadees, but he could not tell. " It is com- ing, sir," was his usual answer. Evidently we were lost in the wilderness, and under that V\b$*Csk !^£n»" t^^lo. impression we lay down to rest. The next morning the route led us up a flinty incline until we seemed to be miles in the air. Then a long and deep ravine was followed, where we found a few bushes, some grass, and some better water. We lost no time in exchanging the lively product of 'Ain el Weibeh for a purer article. Coming then to another rugged ridge, and not knowing what better to do, we ascended it ; then, descending on the other side, we came VIEWS OF THE OASES NEAR KADESH-BARNEA. to a long range of limestone and flint- covered hills. Among these we wandered an hour or two, when suddenly Ouida, whom we had not missed, came gallop- ing towards us crying, "Henna, henna!" ("Here, here!") Following him through a narrow passage made by two bright- colored hills, we saw outspread before us a long, narrow oasis. A quick, short walk of our camels brought us under the shade of its fig trees, and we dismounted. Had the four days of weary searching been rewarded by a rest at 'Ain Qadees ? We were assured by Hedayah that it was so. " Yesterday," said he, " you saw Dr. Rob- inson's Kadesh ; but now you are in Sheik Trumbull's KadesK, where he and I ate dinner together a year ago." Our lunch was made ready, but my anxiety impelled me to slight it and to proceed with the exam- ination of the place. With the notes given me by Dr. Trumbull in hand, I walked from point to point and checked off the proofs I found : the walled wells ; the fig trees laden with fruit ; the groves of palms ; the rushes, reeds, grasses, grain; 'the running stream — everything as described, except the water- troughs and the "large single mass, or a small hill of solid rock." The water-troughs are sometimes removed by the Bedouins. I found an isolated mountain several hundred feet high, and in its side a gorge with a great rock at its farther end. At the base of this, out of a cavern cut by nature, "came a wide stream- bed which followed down to the trees, passed the wells, and then the water became lost among the grasses and the grain. From the top of this solid rock, not hard to reach, a wonderful view was presented. There was a vast plain with an abundant and varied pasture such as we had not seen in Arabia. Ruined buildings dotted the FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 20I hilltops here and there, and low stone walls ran along the hills, one above the other, evidently placed to keep the soil of the terraces from being precipitated to the wadies by the torrents. The neighborhood became more and more interest- ing as I examined it, and my heart thrilled with delight when my earnest dragoman again as- sured me that " This is, so far as I can remem- ber, Dr. Trumbull's Kadesh." Thereupon the camera was applied to for a view of the well, with Ouida and his horse ; another of a pic- turesque sandstone hill which lined one side of the oasis ; and then, from its summit, views of the plain were made right and left. Sheik Ouida then made his departure, and the last we saw of him was as he rode his little horse around the beautiful hill on his journey to Gaza. He took our gratitude with him, but he was not entitled to it. He conducted us to an oasis several miles north of 'Ain Qadees, where probably "no white man ever trod"; but it was not 'Ain Qadees. To mollify his cha- grin when I assured him of my doubts, the amiable Hedayah named the place of our visit " Sheik Wilson's Kadesh," and so we left it. Further search would have been made if I had not felt fairly convinced at the time that we had found what we were seeking. We had at least found what must be a close neighbor of 'Ain Qadees. With the beHef that we had been even more successful, however, our caravan, which had been lost in the desert for four days, ascended the hills on the north and made a straight cut for Hebron, by way of Beersheba. The night w^as spent near some ruins of build- ings on the edge of the plain already described. The next day the flinty inclines of the Negeb country gave us variety. It was one of the most difficult climbs we made. The pass that we ascended led to another extensive plain, where again ruins were seen and where the same sys- tem of low walls prevailed. There were miles of these walls, even then in as shapely condition as those on the highway between New York and Boston. The tiers ran parallel with each other and encircled the hills far up towards their tops. Following this plain is another and lower range of mountains. After reaching the top of the rocky pass which was selected as the most comfortable for the ascent, a remarkable transition scene was presented. Instead of steep inclines, bleak and bare of everything but a con- fusion of limestone and flint, the other side was green with grass, dotted with millions of wild- flowers of almost every known color. The sight was absolutely overpowering. Surely none more gratifying could meet the gaze of the weary mountain climber who had not had an hour free from anxiety or a sight of a flower for two weeks. At noon that day we lunched seated upon Vol. XXXVTT.— 28. the bank of an active stream. Just below us the water made a downward leap of a dozen feet. The food was spread upon a rug, nature- woven, of white daisies, red poppies, and blue, yeflow, white, and lilac flowers, all as delicate and tiny and wild as our own sweet heralds of spring. We sat on the border of the Prom- ised Land, and could easily see its charming undulations many miles ahead. Towards night a thunder-shower seemed to be coming up from the south. A wide, deep wady was crossed that looked as if it had never made way for a gallon of water since its creation. The tents were pitched for the night upon a high mound covered with grass and flowers. Dur- ing the night the expected rain fell, and that dry wady became a deep and wide and roar- ing river for many miles of its length, thus making us witness to another one of those quick transitions which come with the spring- time in that wonderful region. We followed the newly born stream for some time next day, and forded a number of its busy tributa- ries while they brought in their muddy, foam- ing toll from the mountain sides. Parts of the plain were submerged by the overflow, and the poor little flowers had a discouraging time of it. Their fate was a grim augury of our own ; for, a few hours after, we found ourselves encroaching upon the land of the Azazimehs, the descendants of Ishmael, and were over- whelmed by a storm of abuse from a delega- tion of the tribe, who, having sighted us afar off, stood awaiting us at the ford of the river which led up Beersheba way. Practically we were made prisoners, and remained so a good part of two days. A poorer and more de- graded tribe does not exist than the Azazimeh Bedouins — even the fellahin of Petra are bet- ter off"; but they make up for it in impudence and bluster. Every one who drives a camel into their territory is attacked and abused and treated as a spy. The sheik of the tribe had recently been killed in a tribal war, and his place had been taken by a young aspirant who was as large as a veritable son of Anak and who was as insolent as he was large. He declared that our attendants, who were Haiwatt Bedouins from Akabah, were at war with the Azazimehs and could not be allowed to cross the territory. " Will you, then, supply us camels to take us across to Hebron ? " " No ; we have no camels of our own. They have all been stolen from us." " What, then, must we do ?" " You may proceed to Hebron if you hke." This practically prevented us from going on. Not until the night of the second day could this dispute be settled. At last it was agreed that for backsheesh a messenger should go to the camp of the Teyahahs in the adjoining territory and engage camels for the removal BEDOUIN OUTCASTS. FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 203 of our luggage. No day in Petra held more anxiety than this one did ; for parting with the mutinous wretches into whose hands we had voluntarily placed ourselves at Akabah, com- promising with those who held us prisoners, and arranging with the newcomers, required an amount of intolerable yelling and bluster which was more interesting than pleasant. Swords, pistols, clubs, spears, fists, and guns were all used; but nobody was hurt — very much. Even the moon looked troubled by the time we made our departure. If such peo- ple infested this region when the spies came this way, it is not so wonderful that they re- turned to Moses and said, " We were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight." Certainly my long-felt sympathy for Hagar and Ishmael was much shaken by my dealings with their descendants. Nothing could be more lovely, however, than the region reached a day's journey farther north, when in the neighborhood of " the brook Eshcol." The land rolls through " green pastures " and " be- side the still waters." The wide valleys were clothed with verdure, spotted with daisies, but- tercups, dandelions, poppies white and red, and many other flowers. Large flocks were there, attended by their shepherds ; the fellahin were at work, and the women, tall and erect, were everywhere carrying water in jars upon their heads. The fields were protected from the tor- rents by stone walls such as we saw in the wilderness, and olive groves and vineyards abounded. It was a grateful scene, made more so by the resemblance of the gray-sided hills to those of good old Massachusetts. Each vineyard of Eshcol was protected by a high stone wall; in every one was a low stone structure which served as the house of the attendant. The roof was the watch-tower, whereupon the watcher spent the day, to keep the birds and the Bedouins away from the fruit. Nestled away down in the valley below lies Hebron, " in the plains of Mamre." There, reaching across, is the old camping-ground of the patriarchs, and in the distance, towering above everything else except the surrounding hills, are the minarets of the mosque which covers the cave of Machpelah. Hebron is the oldest town in the world which has main- tained a continuous existence. To one com- ing up from a two-months' wandering in the wilds of the scorched desert, where only an occasional oasis occurs to sustain faith in that stage of creation when God said, " Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind," this first sight of holy land is an enchanting one ; yet one, as was afterwards found, where dis- tance lends enchantment to the view. The hills and the valleys aHke are clothed with olive groves, orange trees, and vineyards ; figs, mulberries, almonds, pomegranates, and vege- tables like our own melons and cucumbers also abound. Streams of water run hither and thither and murmur music which gladdens the heart of the weary traveler. It is no wonder that Caleb's heart always turned back to this region after his visit to it as a spy, regardless of the threatening appear- ance of the children of Anak. Surely Joshua was just when he " blessed him, and gave unto Caleb the son of Jephunneh Hebron for an inheritance." Caleb was not afraid, and he revered the place for good reasons. The frugal and industrious husbandman still cares for this historical plain. Seated upon the mountain south of the vale of Eshcol, one can see just where Joshua and " all Israel with him " fought against Hebron; where the fugitives used to run into this city of refuge and fall, panting with fear, at the corner of the great pool, saved as soon as they touched its wall ; doubt- less the very route over which the spies came, and undoubtedly the narrow valley through which Abraham hurried his three hundred and eighteen trained servants up towards Dan to rescue his kinsman Lot, who had been cap- tured by the four kings. There, too, on the far left, is Abraham's oak, said to mark the spot where the patriarch's tent was located when the angels visited him ; on the right, glistening like a gigantic mirror in the sun, is the great pool, upon the farther wall of which David hanged the heads of the kings who had mur- dered Ish-bosheth, the son of his rival Saul. A wonderful amount of history clusters about this valley and the well-cultivated inclines which shape it. Adjoining the tents of my party were those of two young sons of the Prince of Wales and their companions. We were told that the streets of Hebron had been cleaned for the princes, yet the passages seemed very filthy after coming from the clean, dry wadies of the Negeb and the stony high- ways of the wilderness of Kadesh. The bazars of Hebron are dark and damp. Only a small opening in the wall here and there allows the light to come in, and for such a blessing extra rent is charged. The streets are crowded, and the crowds are motley enough. The tawny gypsy, the brown Bedouin of the desert, the spiritless Syrian, and the pale, blue-eyed Jew, with his greasy red lovelocks, provide a grada- tion of color as well as a variety of types. All of the women do not cover their faces ; but if they were faithful to the cause of beauty and of Mo- hammed they would. The children are chubby and pretty, but insolent, pert, and dirty. They spit upon the stranger and throw stones at him. The manufacture of glass beads is carried on extensively at Hebron, and the preparation of 204 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. or they could wind through the equally diffi- cult ravines on the west ; but both routes w^e very difficult and dangerous, because of the opposition they might meet from the dwellers in the land. They were refused a passage through the land of Edom, and there was but one route left for them to follow : that was to retrace their steps southward to Akabah, then go by the wilderness of Moab. The route is clearly defined in Deuteronomy ii. 8 as fol- lows : " And when we passed by from our brethren the children of Esau, which dwelt in Seir, through the way of the plain from goat-skins for carrying water is also a principal industry. Of course the great attraction of the town is the old mosque. It is entered by quite a pretentious stair- way, with a fountain on the right-hand side of an arched doorway of red and black and yellow stones. It looks older than the Nile temples. Its walls are of long, beveled stones, with nearly three inches of cement or mortar between them. As a rule Christians are not ad mitted inside, but Jews are permitted to go as far as the inner wall of the cave inclosure, Avhere, near a small hole, they wail and weep as they do at the Haram wall in Jerusalem. From the top of the outer wall, however, reached from the roof of an old mosque, the traveler may look down into the court and see and photograph the door or entrance to the Cave of Machpelah. It is in no way preten- tious— only a pointed arch crossed by a wall reaching up about eight feet, and broken by a low, arched entrance in the center, with a square aperture at each side to admit light. Yet this is the most interesting sepulcher on the face of the earth ; for inside are the graves of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebekah, and Leah. No site in Palestine is more au- thentic, and none so carefully guarded. Having now considered the region visited Elath [Akabah], and from Ezion-gaber [at the by the spies, we follow them back to Kadesh. north end of the Gulf of Akabah], we turned Thus, in obedience to the chronology of our and passed by the way of the wilderness of present undertaking, we come upon the scene Moab." of the departure of the Israelites from the wil- A wide plain will meet the view of the mod- derness of Kadesh for the land of Canaan, ern traveler as he comes up from the south to Their nomadic life was about to be changed the wilderness of Moab. This plain rises grad- for the more comfortable one of the Promised ually until it approaches the Jordan, where the Land. But how were they to get there ? They western border reaches nearly four thousand could follow up the Wady Arabah until they feet above the sea. Standing at that height, arrived near to the Dead Sea, and then con- one obtains an impressive idea of the vast de- tinue among the cliffs of Moab on the east, pression of the Jordan valley and of the Dead FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 205 Sea. The noble mountains which run north and south form a wall, as it were, between the Jordan valley and the farther east. The bare and rocky mountains of Gilead seem the nearer: so near are they that one with good eyes may see how the descending torrents have torn deep into their sides, and in places he may discern the differences between the species of trees in the forests which clothe the plains ly- ing at the mountain bases. Now the broad ex- panses seem to sink far, far out of focus ; and then they yield again to the rocks and barren fields, with only an occasional thicket occurring to relieve the dull monotony. Rising high on the right of the prospect is a range of moun- tains leading southward, from which some- where rise the tops of Mount Pisgah and the mountains of Nebo. Beyond these, and back to the south again, are the bleak and sunburned summits of the Arabian Mountains, so far away, and yet seemingly so very near. The desert plains, the uneasy sands, the drought-seamed soil, and the torrent-worn wadies, thousands in number, combine to suggest a scene where active force has been suspended and the whole petrified by the sudden grip of a dreadful power all unseen — as though some purgatorial air had blown across it and scorched out its life while the dramatic changes were going on. The wild roar of the ocean, with its display of power, does not move the soul more than does the awful silence of a Moabitish landscape. Both alike seem to be places where God makes his abode, where Nature's mighty wonders are most impressively revealed. Many an earnest and industrious explorer has traversed this land of Moab with the hope of locating " the mountain of Nebo " and the " top of Pisgah." The Bible record seems to place them very exactly : " The Lord showed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, and all Naphtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Ma- nasseh, and all the land of Judah, unto the utmost sea, and the south, and the plain of the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees, unto Zoar." That included Mount Hermon on the north ; from Sidon to Gaza on the west, and from below Hebron on the south. The effort of the explorer has been to find a mountain range with a summit — -not necessarily the high- est one of all — from which all the country in- cluded in the Bible record may be made out. Agreeing that there is no presumption in the desire to see with the modern eye as much as was divinely revealed to Moses, the ac- counts of those who have made the trial are exceedingly interesting. American explorers have been the most industrious in this search, and there seems to be no doubt that Professor John A. Paine is entitled to the highest credit for the information he has given us concerning Vol. XXXVIL— 29. the identification of Mount Pisgah. From his valuable record, which fills one hundred and fifty pages of the "Journal of the Palestine Ex- ploration Society" (January, 1875), we learn that the noted traveler gathered his proofs by personal investigation. Several summits were ascended, and in turn were found wanting. Patiently and persistently the work went on. All the clues obtained from the traditions of the wandering Bedouins and from the beckonings of Nature were followed, and sometimes they led to nothing more reliable than a mirage. At last a mountain headland with a divided sum- mit was found, called Jebel Siaghah — " a nar- row foreland bounded by ledges and steeps on the north and west, falling quickly down to Wady 'Ayun Mousa far below." From this mountain, " 2360 feet above the level of the sea," the " magnificent display " is described as including, briefly, the ' following : Two-thirds of the Dead Sea . . . the Negeb Moses saw ; in a direction a little south of south- west ... a perspective of scarcely a shorter dis- tance than toward the north ; the hill country of Judah ; the country around Hebron ; up to Bethle- hem ; with no background but the sky, the spires of Jerusalem stand out plainer than ever; "as far as Bethany" ; in the north, hills blend in blueness that lie not far from Nazareth, and look down on the shores of Lake Gennesaret ; there is the Jordan ; Peraea ; Bethabara ; the point of Gibeon on the right ; the dilapidated tower of Bethel ; the high moun- tains of Ephraim undulate along for a wide distance until they end in Gerizim and Ebal ; the hills of Manasseh fall into east-and-west chains which run boldly out toward the valley and present many pic- turesque features ; the mountains before Gilboa have risen still more ; beyond these, the hills descend to the lower highlands of Galilee, till they sink off in the plateaus of the northern portion of Dan. Thus we see that the views obtained by Pro- fessor Paine embrace all the territory included in the biblical account, except that the great sea was not visible. Since my journey, the Rev. George E. Post, M. D., of the Syrian medical college connected with the American mission at Beyrout and one of my companions to Mount Sinai, has conducted a scientific expedition to the Moab country. He visited the sites described by Professor Paine, and made drawings of Nebo and Pisgah. He kindly sent me copies, w^ith permission to engrave them for this paper, but they were received too late. His entire report, with engravings, appears in a recent issue of the " Report of the Palestine Exploration Society." It is valuable, and full of thrilling interest. Dr. Post thinks that Nebo is north of Siaghah. The horseback journey from Jericho to Shechem takes two days. The road is a very rough one, and must have been so when Joshua 2o6 FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. made his conquests; for when his spies "went up and viewed Ai . . . they returned to Joshua, and said unto him, Let not all the people go up; but let about two or three thousand men go up and smite Ai ; and make not all the people to labor thither; for they are but few " (Joshua vii. 2, 3). Nevertheless the journey is one of the most enjoyable in all Palestine, The start should be made long be- fore sunrise, for it is a rare privilege to see the sun awaken such a drowsy country. When the first glimmer of light comes darting down from the Moabite hills, it trembles a moment among the top leaves of Jordan's verdant side-screens, and then dances hither and thither across the dewy plains of Jericho. The scene is one wliich would gladden the heart of any hus- bandman. Towards the south the view is in- terrupted by a great fog, the rosy high lights of which hover over the Dead Sea. Its left wing hangs drooping over the bosom of the Jordan for a mile or two. The Fountain of Elisha looks almost black at that early hour, and the little stream scarcely seems awake. Now we turn westward. A short race with the sunbeams across the plain brings us square in front of Mount Quarantana, into whose yawning caves the early light affords the best view of all the day, for then only can the genial rays creep into them. For an hour before sun- rise everything looks dismal enough; but when the sun rises, the scene grows more beautiful every foot of the way. When one of the high- est points is gained, a vast prospect is presented, that reaches from the great sea on the west, with the hills of Benjamin, overtopped by those of Gilead and Moab (the Jordan between them), on the east. The rolling battlefields of Gibeon lie in full view. Every rod of ground represents a page in Israelitish history. Bound for a special place, however, we must avoid detail and hurry on to Bethel, and east of Bethel to Ai. As the sun journeys on, the air grows hot, and the climb becomes irksome. The Bethel of to-day does not inspire very Jacob-like dreams. The prophecy that " Bethel shall come to naught" has been fully realized. Part of an old pool forms the usual camping- ground of the traveler. The people of the modern village are cleanly and hospitable, and cultivate an abundance of lovely roses, quanti- ties of which they press upon the stranger. The city wall is constructed of immensely tall plants of the prickly pear. They are easier to keep in order than the walls of stone, though stones and " pillars of stone " undoubtedly abound m every field about Bethel. Jerusalem and " the place of Jacob's dream " present the points of interest in the outlook towards the south. The Dead Sea and the Jordan may again be seen south and east; but Ai, our chief point of interest, "is on the east side cff Bethel," not so very far from Abraham's camp- ing-ground. The story of its assault and cap- ture is recorded with such detail as to make it one of the most interesting events in all the Jewish narrative. It seems as if one of those great wide- spreading oaks which stand to-day on the sides of the hills near Bethel must be the one upon which the King of Ai was hanged, and that any " great heap of stones," so numerous close by, may cover the kingly carcass. There still is the rocky glen where the ambush lay; there the barren ridge where Joshua and his attend- ants took up their position, north of the city ; there the deep valley between them, where he first attracted the attention of Ai; there the wild ravine through which they fled with Ai after them, down towards Jericho. But it is all desolation and ruin now, and the country is not worth the attention of the modern invader. For good reasons, doubtless, Joshua made Shiloh his headquarters, and " set up the tab- ernacle of the congregation there." Thus Shi- loh became the place of the annual feasts and was a resort well known* to all the tribes of Israel. The neighboring highways are about the roughest over which any one traveling in Pal- estine ever rode a horse. Indeed, sometimes the traveler is obliged to dismount to help and encourage his poor bewildered horse to follow him. The rougher climbs over, how- ever, the remainder of the journey to Shechem is one of the most varied and enjoyable in all the land. Instead of the small, compressed, ground-down sort of appearance which gen- erally pervades southern Palestine, every pros- pect seems to please. Thriving olive groves, rich grain-fields, myriads of gaudy flowers, hills covered with growing crops, and the long inclines, terraced now with stone walls, now by the natural formation of the rock, vary the prospect. Such is the outlook presented in all directions, except on the left, towards Mount Gerizim, around the shoulder of which runs the road. Farmers are seen plowing, the women are plucking the tares from the wheat, and the children are helping. Ascending and descend- ing,every foot of the way from Shiloh to Shechem shows the care and attention of an industrious people. Perhaps it is the fresher air that gives them more vigor than have those who inhabit the white chalk-hills and the almost bare val- leys of the south country. Even the flowers look fresher, newer, and happier. Every step taken by the horses starts a gossipy wagging of heads and a widening of eyes among the daisies which line the narrow roadway. A glorious surprise comes when the last ascent previous to Gerizim itself is reached. At the FROM SINAI TO SHECHEM. 207 right, spreading eastward for nearly a mile and a half and from north to south for seven miles or more, is a glorious valley, broken up into sections of green and gold and pink, with not a line of fence or wall to disturb it, and only the groves of olives, the trunks of which, twisted and braided together, relieve the uniformity of the expanse. Away over on its eastern side is a line of hills, as dark as a row of olive trees. On the left Gerizim and Ebal stand out ma- jestically against the blue sky, wdth the wide vale between them, in the midst of which lies Shechem, Then, far in the north-west, rising like a great white screen, as though outstretched for the whole grand evening spectacle to be pro- jected upon it, is snowy Mount Hermon. The whole populace of the town of Hawara, located on the steep incline of Gerizim, comes out to witness the panorama. But all the novelty they see is the stranger; all the music they hear comes from the bells on the necks of the luggage-mules. Soon after this village is passed the road forks. At the right one of the best roads in Palestine leads to Jacob's Well. A shorter cut to the vale of Shechem is made by keeping to the left, but it is by no means so picturesque as the other. For the best view, Shechem should be approached from the south, and just at the close of day. Then the long, wide shadows of Mount Gerizim, projected upon the plain, are welcomed by the husband- man who has been toiling all day under the cloudless sky. The first lowering of the tem- perature is the signal for the flocks to break away from their flower-besprinkled pasture and to turn themselves towards their folds ; the men and the women, often laden with some product of the field, also turn homeward. A great finger seems to have been placed across the lips of Nature, so still and so quiet all be- comes with the departure of the sun and the advance of the twilight. It must have been at that same hour when " all the congregation of Israel, with the women and the little ones, and the strangers that were conversant among them," congregated, " half of them over against Mount Gerizim, and half of them over against Mount Ebal," while Joshua read all the words of the law, the blessings and the cursings. And it must have been so silent, too, when a quarter of a century after this a solemn renewal of the covenant took place, and Joshua " set them a statute and an ordinance in Shechem." It is a strange experience to pass through the lovely vale of Shechem and, gazing at Ebal on the right and at Gerizim on the left, to think of how many noted people journeyed likewise long before Christ came. The list of sojourners and travelers includes Abraham, Jacob, Simeon, Levi, Joseph (buried here), Joshua, Abimelech, and Rehoboam. Jesus was a visitor here, and Shechem was the birthplace of Justin Martyr. The Roman scepter, the Christian cross, and the crescent of Islam have all held sway in Shechem. The garrison whose bugle awakens the echoes of Ebal and Gerizim to-day recalls memories of blessing and cursing, and with American rifles, though under command of Ottoman ofiicers, keeps peace among the turbulent people. Shechem is a cosmopolitan place, and some of her peo- ple represent the oldest races. For example, about all the Samaritans that are left congre- gate there. Within the whitewashed walls of their tiny synagogue is the inscribed " original " of their Pentateuch. This document varies in many particulars from the Pentateuch of the Jews, and is under careful watch. They hold that it was written by Abishua, the son of Phineas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron. The officiating priest is a young man who claims to be a direct descendant of Aaron. After the proper persuasion of backsheesh, he consented to exhibit the antique document and to stand beside it in the synagogue court while its photograph was made. Its great silver case and the rods of the scroll make it very heavy, so that an assistant was required to help the priest carry it. After placing it upon a chair, they very carefully unfolded the embroidered scarf of crimson satin which covered it, and thus displayed the engraved silver case. In time the doors of this were thrown open, and the precious document was made visible. It was rolled like a Jewish scroll upon two metal rods that are much longer than the scroll. These rods protrude at each end for the protection of the parchment. The letters are Samaritan, but they are wTitten in the Hebrew language. The. engraved scenes upon the case are said to represent the ground plan of the Tabernacle. In their ceremonies they follow the injunctions of Exodus xxviii. and Leviticus viii. Once a year the Samari- tans hold their religious feasts upon the sum- mit of Mount Gerizim, " the mountain of blessing." It is their Moriah. The men, as a rule, are fine looking, pleasant in manners, and superior to the average Syrian. The women are lighter in color than their sisters in Bethle- hem and Jerusalem, and seem to be of a very different race. Their hair is black and ^\avy, and their dress is unlike that of the Moham- medans and Jews. They seem to be happy and are devoted to their creed. Their strange little family numbers less than two hundred. The location of Shechem is delightful. The whole vale, running east and west, is alive with gushing cascades and bounding streams, fed partly by the twin mountains Ebal, on the north, and Gerizim, on the south. Luxuriant olive groves and fig orchards, interspersed with 2o8 THE THIRD OF MARCH. fruit trees- of various kinds, are dotted hither and thither, everywhere. But the city itself is not so attractive. Many of its streets are cavern-Hke, for they run under the houses. They would afford an excellent opportunity for the trial of some rapid-transit scheme, were it not that they are so very narrow and con- tinually thronged with the noisy, hurrying multitude. The better view of life is had from the housetops. They are reached from the streets by stone stairways. There the people take their leisure, do a great deal of their trad- ing and much of their work. Thus the houses seem to be, as indeed many are, hoisted a story or two in the air. There is no regularity of style about them, and it is all one's life is worth to try to find the way among them with- out a guide and a torch. Only from a height can the real beauties of Shechem be seen. Then the broad domes of the mosques and their graceful minarets stand out finely; the variety of houses shows forth and the open streets are indicated, first by the sound which comes up from the multitude, and then by the gay bazars which line them. Fine views are had from '' Jacob's Tower," a picturesque structure in the south-west corner of the town. It is said to have been the home of the patri- arch whence he sent Joseph to Dothan to look after his recreant brethren. Strangely enough, amidst all the buzz and noise of the town comes the clatter of the cotton-gin, for She- chem is the great cotton center of Palestine. It is also headquarters for the best olive-oil soap. Two miles down the vale is the well of Jacob, where the interview between Christ and the Samaritan woman took place. Directly north, and almost in a line with the well, close to the base of Ebal, is the tomb of Joseph. All along the side of this mountain, when the new cove- nant was made, Joshua mustered the tribes (5f Reuben and Gad, of Asher and Zebulon, of Dan and Naphtah. On the other side, against Gerizim, the tribes of Simeon and Levi, of Judah and Issachar, of Joseph and Benjamin were gathered. As one stands looking from the top of Jacob's Tower the present seems to vanish and the past arises again with a strange reality. Not a single feature of nature appears to have been touched out by the wizard pencil of time. Every light and every shade is accentuated by the long perspective of history. The pages recorded here must face those of Sinai. The vale of Shechem is the consonant of the plain of Er Raha. Somewhere and somehow, running through the intervening pages, are the threads we have tried to gather up and follow, guided by the entanglements of tradition and persuaded by the reasonings of the modern explorer. The sounds of idol- atry were left at Aaron's Hill, and the blast of the trumpets cheered the desolation of Wady Sheik; then the departing hosts followed across the wilderness, where the manna and the quail were provided, through the inclos- ure of Hazeroth to the wandering-place of Kadesh-Barnea, where the provision of good water w^as followed by the long tarrying. On they went until, climbing the flinty ridges of the border, the place was reached where de- nuded nature grew more consistent and the long inclines were found clothed with lovely flowers. There the land, " with milk and honey blest," was seen as the spies had seen it. On and on, by the way of the desert wilds again, to Nebo, to the sacred river, and across it to where all intrusion of barrenness ceased and the Promised Land was reached. Just so we may see it to-day. Edward L. Wilson. THE THIRD OF MARCH. UR friend Captain Keppell has been with us again, and was as quiet, as agreeable, and as interesting as ever. He had little to say, how- ever, with reference to his recent visit to the East; and indeed we have noticed that the Captain uniformly forbears to talk about any subject that is not at least ten years old. But one gusty evening, after the lamps were lighted, and the children in bed, and our chairs were drawn in a semicircle round the blazing fire, Keppell filliped the ash off the end of his cigar and remarked, " This is the third of March, is n't it?" " It sounds like it," replied one of us, as a louder blast of wind howled round the north- east corner of our venerable farm-house. " Did I ever tell you about Jack Hamilton ? " asked Keppell, after a pause. " In the army, you know — got into a scrape — went to New Zealand — and all that." " I never heard you mention him," said I, set- tling myself in my chair with agreeable anticipa- tions : for the Captain had his yarn-spinning air on. " I was reminded of hini by the fact that the third of March was his birthday," continued our friend ; " and it was a marked day in his calendar for other reasons. I first met him at Ox- ford : you know I was up at Oxford for a year. THE THIRD OF MARCH. 209 Afterwards we joined the same regiment, and saw a little service together. I resigned after- wards; Jack sold out: but that is anticipating. • " I did n't especially take to him in those days; we were hardly in the same set. He was rather a fast man at the University, though I believe he w^as in the crew one year. He was an immense great broad-shouldered chap, with blue eyes and a voice like a fog-horn ; and later he had a big red beard, from behind which he glared out, when he was angry, like a tiger out of a jungle. His family was old and noble; you probably met Lord when you were in London ? Well, that was Jack's brother. If Jack had inherited the title, he might have turned out very differently ; he certainly had brains, and plenty of energy. But there were a good many children, and his share of the patrimony did n't amount to much. Instead of taking his place among the hereditary law- givers and millionaires of the nation, he had to fight for his own hand; and he made rather a mess of it. " It was not until we had been some time in India with the regiment that we became friends, in the proper sense of the word. We were near each other in some skirmish, and my sword happened to intervene between Jack's head and some black devil's spear; and he would have it that I had saved his life. Poor fellow ! I might have done him a better service by let- ting the spear take its course. For that matter, I have sometimes thought that the best result of saving life, as a general thing, is the medal you get from the Humane Society. But on this occasion I did n't get even that. " Jack was not an ideal soldier, in spite of his enormous strength and headlong courage; for he had very little respect for discipline. He was all the time insulting the dignity of his superiors ; he never seemed able to under- stand that any human being, even though it were the commander-in-chief, had the right to dictate to him. But the men idolized him; he was always in front of everybody in a charge; and he never flinched under hardships that would have worn down a dromedary. There were few finer sights than Jack on a battlefield, astride that great roan charger of his, galloping through the bullets, with his red beard blowing past his shoulders and his saber swinging and glittering in his hand. It was not a pleasant sight for the black fellows though. But, notwithstanding his gallantry, Jack missed his promotion : he was too much his own enemy. He never complained about it, but I know he used to rage internally. Good temper was not Jack's strong point, at any rate. " One day he got a bad wound in the groin : it healed imperfectly; he always limped a little afterwards, and often suffered pain. Six months' leave was given him, and he went home. As for me, I had seen about enough of soldiering by that time ; and soon after Jack left, as there was a lull in hostilities, I resigned, as you know, and followed him to England. He had been there then only two months; but, as I was speedily made aware, he had already got him- self into the worst kind of a scrape. '■'• ' Cherchez la femme ? ' Well, I don't sub- scribe to that proverb as a rule ; it 's a very superficial one; but in this instance I must con- fess it applied pretty well. There was a woman at the bottom of it. " I had known for some time past that Jack was in love with somebody; I suppose all young fellows of his age and constitution are ; but I had neither asked nor learned any of the par- ticulars. I did n't imagine- it was anything ex- ceptionally serious. There had been a letter now and then, which he would read and re- read, and wear inside his jacket ; and once, I remember, he spoke the name of Edith in a way that led me to think it had a special significance for him; but that was about all. He did not look like a man who would be apt to ruin himself for any woman. But I knew less of men then than I do now. " I ran across him one night at the Army and Navy Club. He was in evening dress, and had evidently been to dinner. He shook my hand with great cordiality, and clapped his great paw on my shoulder, as if he would have liked to hug me. But there was a dangerous look in those blue eyes of his : I had seen it there before. He drew me into a corner of the smoking-room, and we sat down and had'brandy and soda. "'By Jove, Keppell, old fellow,' he ex- claimed, ' you 're just the man I wanted to see ! You 've come in the nick of time. I could n't have done without you.' " ' What 's the matter ? ' I inquired. '■ Do you want me to cut in at a game of whist ? ' "Jack laughed between his teeth, and twisted his hand in his beard. " ' Whist is n't the game,' he replied; ' though there 're hearts in it, and I mean to lead clubs, and there may be a use for spades, and dia- monds seem to be trumps,' This was a fair specimen of Jack's humor. ' No, no ; this is no child's play, Keppell,' he added. ' It 's an ugly business, and I want you to help me see it through.' " ' Well, let 's hear what it is,' I replied, sip- ping my brandy and soda. " ' Did you ever hear of Lady Edith ? ' asked Jack, speaking low and gazing at me intently. " ' I 've heard of her; but I don't know that I ever met her.' 2IO THE THIRD OF MARCH " ' You would not have forgotten it if you had met her. She 's the finest girl in England. And what do you suppose they 're going to do with her — try to do, at all events ? ' '"I 'm sure I don't know, and I don't — ' " ' Hold on ! ' interposed Jack, holding up his hand. ' Don't say you don't care ; because I do care — as the world will know in due time. They are trying to marry her to that sharp-nosed Scotch ranter, Lord Bothwell.' " ' Well, why not ? Lord Bothwell is quite as good-looking as you are. Jack, though he may not weigh half as much. He 's got a good reputation in the House too ; and so far as money goes, no girl in England can afford to turn up her nose at him.' " ' But he 's not the man for my Edith,' re- joined Jack, frowning, and bringing his fist down on the arm of his chair. " ' Oh, if she 's your Edith that alters the case, of course.' " ' I have a right to call her mine. We have known each other since we were children. I loved her when I was at school. Other fellows may fall in love a dozen times, I have never thought of any girl but her. You are the first man to whom I 've ever spoken of this, Keppell ; and I would n't speak of it to you if it were n't necessary that you should know how I stand. All the time I 've been in India we have written to each other — look here ! ' and he pulled out of an inner pocket a bundle of old letters : ' I always carry these about me. We have promised ourselves to each other, I tell you; and do you suppose that I, at this late day, am going to let such a bundle of skin and bone as Bothwell come between us ? ' " ' What do you mean to do about it ? ' I asked him. " Jack lit a cigar and took a sip from his glass before replying. " ' I 've thought it all over carefully,' he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding me with a confident air, as if assured beforehand of my approbation ; ' and I 've made up my mind that the simplest way out of the trouble will be to call him out.' " ' Call him out. Jack ! It is n't possible you think of fighting him ? ' " He gave his beard another twist, and nod- ded his head. " I laughed. ' We 're not in India,' I said, ' nor in France ; nor is Bothwell a fighting man. And if you fancy that the proper way to woo an English girl is to shoot your rival, you will find very few in this country to agree with you. I will have nothing to do with it, for one.' " '■ A fellow must do the best he can,' he replied. '■ I have thought of everything, but nothing else will serve. To force her into this marriage would be a cold-blooded, inhuman piece of policy. Of course you understand the affair will be managed in such a way that no one will suspect her of having any connection with it. And of course she knows nothing about it now.' " 'All I have to say to you is, if you attempt anything of the kind, you will not only ruin yourself past redemption, but you will lose her. Besides, there 's no need of it. The girl can't be made to marry Bothwell, or anybody else, against her vv^ill. You must leave it to her.' " ' Well, that 's your opinion,' said Jack, fin- ishing his brandy. '• Perhaps if you knew what it is to love a woman, your opinion would be different. Have another split ? I must be off, then; I have some letters to write. Sorry we could n't agree. Good-night.' " He ros^, and limped out, leaving me both irritated and depressed. There was no arguing with such brutal obstinacy as his ; nor could he be restrained by any means less persuasive than actual arrest and imprisonment. As it turned out, however, the immediate difficulty was averted by an accident. As Jack was get- ting out of his hansom that night the horse started, and he was thrown heavily to the pave- ment. The fall caused the wound in his groin to reopen; he was carried into his house and did not leave his bed for ten days, during a part of which time he was delirious. Before he got out again. Lord Bothwell and Lady Edith were made man and wife, and had gone to the Con- tinent on their bridal trip. This was in Sep- tember. Affairs of my own took me away from London, and I did not see Jack again till the following winter. Then I ran across him at a reception at the Countess of Mayfair's. A very beautiful woman, but pale, and with a sad expression, was leaning on his arm, and Jack was talking to her in a low voice, but with great animation. " 'Ah, Keppell, glad to see you! ' said Jack, as I caught his eye. ' By the bye, Edith, you must let me present Captain Keppell to you ; you have often heard me speak of him. Kep- pell — Lady Bothwell.' " We exchanged a few words, and I passed on. But the impression I had received from Jack's look and manner, as well as from the aspect of his beautiful companion, was a pain- ful one. That he was still in love with her went without saying. It was more to the point that she seemed to me to be in love with him. She had given him a glance or two, even while I stood with them, that was not to be mistaken. But she was unhappy; she had struggled against her passion, and unsuccessfully. I judged her to be a woman of impetuous nat- ure when warmed and stimulated, yet easily THE THIRD OF MARCH. 211 amenable to conviction in her colder moods. I could understand how she might have al- lowed herself to be persuaded into marrying Bothwell against the secret opposition of her heart; but I could also understand that, if once her heart were thoroughly kindled and aroused, she might take a fatal and irrevo- cable step. " And Jack's presence with her, under such circumstances, was of evil augury. The look with which he had met me was defiant and sullen. He had known what was in my mind, and was prepared to resist all remonstrances. He was a desperate man. It made me uncom- fortable to contemplate what might happen unless some other incalculable accident should intervene. My acquaintance with Bothwell was too slight to warrant my making any ap- plication or giving any warning to him ; still less could I approach Lady Edith herself. The only alternative course was to attempt to bring Jack to his senses, and I had a presentiment that tHis would be futile. " Nevertheless, I did what I could, and spoke my mind to him without reserve. The manner in which he received me indicated that he had already descended to a lower depth than I supposed. He assumed a laughing, obtuse demeanor, and declared he was as innocent of evil designs as a dove. He had accepted, he said, the decrees of fate : Edith had become Lady Bothwell, and such she must remain. But that was no reason why he should drop her acquaintance. They were very good friends, that was all. Bothwell was not to be blamed for marrying such a fine creature if he could get her; and Jack asserted, with a laugh, that he bore him no malice. ' " Honi soit qui mal y pense ! " — that 's my motto,' he ex- claimed. ' You are a good fellow, Keppell,' he added, ' and there 's no man I like better, or so well. But you have discovered a mare's nest, my dear boy, and you will show your wisdom by retreating in as good order as possible.' " ' Well, Jack,' I said at length, ' of course I 'm bound to accept your own account of yourself until circumstances contradict or con- firm it. But since you have no motive in staying round here beyond those of ordinary friendship, I have a proposition to make to you. I intend starting on a ramble which will probably take me round the world by a some- what unconventional route. I want a compan- ion, and you are the companion I want. Will you come ? ' " ' With my leg ? No, thank you ! My ram- bling days are over, I fear. I shall remain in London for the present, hobbling round to dinner parties now and then, smoking my cigar at the club, and talking gossip and scandal before the fire like the other old fogies. Much obliged to you, Keppell, all the same,' he added, with a touch of genuine feeling in his voice for the first and only time during our interview. ' I know you mean it kindly, and I thank you. But that is not the sort of medicine that can cure such an invalid as I am — more 's the pity ! ' " Well, I left him at last, without having gained my point, and soon after I went to Paris. One morning as I sat at breakfast, reading yesterday's copy of ' The Times,' my eye caught the paragraph that I seemed to have been expecting all along. There it was — ' Elopement in high life,' and all the rest of it. I threw down the pa.per. I passed a gloomy hour, I can assure you; and now what was to be the sequel ? " The best to be hoped for was that Lord Bothwell would immediately apply for a di- vorce, and that the miserable incident might be forgotten as soon as possible. At the best, the future of the pair looked dark enough. Jack had no money other than the sum ob- tained by the sale of his commission — he had disposed of it a few weeks before. That would soon be spent ; and there was nothing that I could think of that he could do to earn a liv- ing. Their course would be inevitably down- ward. It might be temporarily arrested, it could not be stopped. Everything was against them. "As I was taking my hat to go out, the door opened and Jack himself appeared on the threshold. He held out his hand to me, and I took it at once. It was not a conven- tional act on my part ; but I have always had confidence in the ability of Providence to chas- tise sinners, and have never felt it my duty to proffer my assistance. It could make neither Jack nor myself any worse for him to know that I was still his friend. "He had apparently prepared himself to meet with another sort of greeting, and my reception affected him somewhat. We had a long talk. Lady Bothwell, he said, was in lodgings. He himself was staying at the Bris- tol; except that, he had n't much news to tell me. I learned, however, that he had left word with Lord Bothwell ' where he might be found,' as the phrase is ; and would remain a week in Paris, awaiting his reply. I said I hoped there might be none ; there was not much else left to hope for. " Jack shook his head, but made no other answer. I think he had no desire to kill Lord Bothwell: he was satisfied with the injury he had done him, and would have preferred a divorce ; but his ideas of honor led him to im- agine that it was incumbent on him to give his lordship a ' chance.' He did not request me to act for him in the matter — a delicacy 212 THE THIRD OF MARCH. which I appreciated. As he was going out he said : " ' I won't ask you to call on us, Keppell — at present. I know what I have done, — I see all the bearings, — but I am happy, and I hope to make her so. I shall try. We are alone in the world now; but if I can be to her the hundredth part of what she is to me, the world will not be missed. That 's all I have to say about it.' " It is not the world, however, which plays the influential part in such a matter, though outwardly of course it appears so. The real source of punishment, like the source of evil, is within. It had not been fully revealed to Jack yet, but sooner or later he would know. " Meanwhile a surprise was in store for me, if not for him. Whether it was that Lord Both- well had loved his wafe more passionately than he had seemed to do, or whether, beneath his cool and impenetrable Scotch exterior, there were rude instincts of human nature which no one had suspected, certain it is, at all events, that he accepted Jack's challenge without de- lay or hesitation, and was in Paris two days later. It was then the 2d of March. " The preliminaries were promptly arranged. Lord Bothwell was in thorough earnest, and would consent to nothing merely formal. The weapons were pistols, the distance ten paces. They met on the morning of March 3, at 6 o'clock; and five minutes afterwards Lord Bothwell was dead, with a bullet through his brain. " I had taken no part in the management of the meeting ; but I had taken measures to facilitate the escape of Lady Bothwell and Jack, should that be necessary. They started immediately, and by nightfall had passed the boundaries of France and were far on their way to Naples, where they purposed getting married and remaining till the summer. I had one glimpse of her, the last I ever had, as they drove away; I can never forget her tragic, ghastly, beautiful face. Jack nodded to me with a strange smile, spoke to the driver, pulled his hat down over his brows, and they were gone." At this point Captain Keppell interrupted his story for a few moments, during which he took another cigar and lighted it. His face was grave and thoughtful. No one spoke : only the bitter March wind kept up its blustering ; and at length the Captain resumed his tale. " I always was, and always shall be, a wan- derer on the face of the earth ; and during the next few years I knocked about the world a good deal. I think it was four years after the events I have told you about that I found myself in New Zealand. I had always had a curiosity to visit the place ; and now certain business interests had occurred to promote my going, and I availed myself of the oppor- tunity. •' While there I met a former acquaintance of mine in London, by the name of Duane. I had known him as an idler and a man about town, but he was now transformed into an energetic and capable member of the govern- ment. His information regarding the condition and prospects of the new country was interest- ing and accurate, and we became great cronies. He facilitated my excursions into the neigh- borhood, and occasionally, when his duties permitted, accompanied me himself. One day, when we had been discussing the social as- pects of the colony and contrasting them with those of England, he suddenly said : " ' By the bye, did n't you know a fellow over there named Hamilton — Jack Hamilton? He ran away with Bothwell's wife, you know, and shot Bothwell himself in a duel.' " I replied that I had known such a man. " ' Well,' resumed Duane, ' he is " Happy Jack." ' " ' I 'm glad to hear that he is happy ; but what has made him so ? ' " ' Oh,' replied Duane, with a laugh, ' that 's only the nickname the people have given him. I fancy its fitness consists in its unfitness ; he is so savage and morose that it is a happiness to be out of his way. But I supposed you must have heard about him; he 's quite a charac- ter.' " ' My last news of him is three or four years old.' '"'Well, he came here between two and three years ago. His wife — he married her after shooting Bothwell — had died ; but he had a little ' daughter with him, a mere infant. He was evidently in poor circumstances, and not disposed to be on good terms with anybody. Some of our nice people here attempted to show him kindness, but he received their ad- vances in such a way that they were cured of ever trying anything of the sort again. He took up with the rougher element ; and is on quite good terms, I believe, with many of the Maoris. He certainly has great influence among them, on account of his physical strength, which is amazing, in spite of his lameness ; and he once killed one of them in a bare-handed fight, because the fellow had accidentally up- set his little Edith — that is the name he has given his daughter. The Maoris, you know, bear no malice for a thing of that kind ; they will kill you or be killed in fair fight, with the greatest good humor imaginable.' " ' Where is Hamilton living now ? ' " ' At a place on the coast about thirty miles from here. He finally settled there after wan- dering about for several months, with his child THE THIRD OF MARCH. 213 in his arms. I fancy, by the bye, he 's uncom- monly fond of that Httle thing; and she cer- tainly is as pretty as a picture and as sweet as a rosebud.' " ' How does he live ? Has he any occupa- tion ? ' " ' Well, yes ; I 'm sorry to say he has. What I mean is, his occupation is not a par- ticularly savory one, considering that he was born and bred a gentleman. He keeps a rum- shop which is the resort of some of the worst characters in the settlement. I would n't ad- vise you to go down there ; you would find it unpleasant after having known him in differ- ent circumstances. He does n't like to be re- minded in any way of his past life, and he might give you a rough reception.' " In spite of this warning I was disposed to risk a meeting w4th my old friend Jack, and a few days later I made my way down to the secluded little village in the vicinity of which he lived. It was a wild and picturesque part of the sea- coast, with riotous semi-tropical vegetation growing down almost to the water's edge. Great black rocks, fantastically jagged, fronted the waves, and outside were reefs, the presence of which was revealed only by the storms and by the vessels that were shat- tered against them. Behind, miles inland, tall mountains rose sharply against the clear sky. " The village lay in a clearing bordered by a curving beach of white sand, with a rocky headland on each side. A small harbor was thus formed, the only one in a stretch of many miles. The headland or promontory on the left as you faced the sea was larger than the other : it extended six or seven hundred yards outwards from the shore-line, and averaged a hundred yards in breadth. About a third of the way down this promontory stood the house in which Jack Hamilton lived and where he conducted his business, such as it was. " It was an odd-looking specimen of archi- tecture. It was largely constructed of masses of stone, piled together somewhat after the fashion of the stone walls in America, the crevices being filled in with a kind of clay, hardened by the sun. The roof and part of the walls were of hewn logs. But at the sea- ward end of the house — which stood on the highest piece of land on the promontory — was a rude tower, built entirely of stone, and daubed over with whitewash. This tower was perhaps thirty feet in height, and, owing to its con- spicuous site and its whiteness, must have been visible many miles at sea. Transversely across the promontory, on a line with the tower, was a high picket fence, separating the seaward end of the promontory from the main. " ' You '11 find him there, or thereabouts,' said one of the villagers, in reply to my in- VoL. XXXVIL— 30. quiries as to ' Happy Jack.' ' He seldom comes into the village, sir, except it is to see to the unloading of one of his smacks, and to cart the hogsheads up to his place. Yes, sir, he 's a pretty tough customer. Jack is ; but he 's got his good points too. The best of 'em is that little gal of his : she 's his guardian angel, if ever a man had one. She never comes this side of the fence, and never sees nothing of the goings-on in the liquor-shop. If a man so much as lets out a bit of strong language in her hearing, he 's lucky if Jack only gives him a broken head. And they say as how she 's the cause of the tower being built too ! ' " I asked how that happened. " ' Well, sir,' replied my informant, ' you see there used to be a lot of ships wrecked out on the reefs yonder beyond the headland. The reefs they don't show, except the sea breaks on 'em, and there ain't no charts of this coast. But one night when there was a heavy gale blowing on shore, the little gal was waked up (so the story goes) by the sound of guns in the ofling, and she asked her pa what that was. He told her it was some ship coming ashore, most likely. So what does the little thing do but catch hold of the candle, and climb up on the table in the window, and stand there hold- ing up the candle, so as the ship can see her way home, as she says. , Well, the next thing was, that Jack built that tower and painted it white ; and at the top of it he rigged up a lantern, and lights it every night regular, no matter how drunk he may be ; and that light has saved as many ships, maybe, as there is stones in the tower. And whether Jack done it for the sake of the ships, or for the sake of the little gal, it 's a handsome thing for him to do, all the same; and we gives him credit for it.' " I thanked my communicative friend, and, leaving the village, passed on towards the soli- tary house on the promontory. A path, worn by the passing of many feet, but scarcely wide enough, one would have thought, to accommo- date the eccentricities of those returning from the scene of their festivity, conducted me by an easy ascent to Happy Jack's domains. It was still the forenoon, and no one seemed to be stirring. I rapped on the door with the knob of my oaken staff. " After a pause I heard a noise of light pat- tering footsteps, the door was slowly opened, and before me stood a lovely little maiden, hardly more than three years of age. Her curling hair had a thread of reddish gold run- ning through it ; but her eyebrows were dark, and so were her large hazel eyes. Her little face was rounded in curves of perfect beauty, and her childish features were vivified and enlightened by an expression of innocent in- telligence charming to behold. She was clad 214 THE THIRD OF MARCH. in a costume which could hardly have been sur- passed for simplicity — a single garment of fine wool, of a grayish green hue, gathered at the throat and at the wrists, and falling in straight folds to the knee. On her small feet were a kind of moccasins, embroidered with beads. Pure and innocent though she was, as a thing fresh from heaven, I recognized her in an in- stant by the signs of her sad parentage written in her every movement and gesture ; and the thought flashed across my mind, Will she live to inherit their fate as well as their like- ness? "'Papa ith athleep,' said the little maid; 'oo muff come some over time.' " Before I could make a rejoinder, a deep and resonant voice that I knew, but with some- thing fiercer and gruffer in it than of yore, be- came audible from within, and the floor shook beneath a heavy and hurried tread. The little golden-haired fairy vanished as if by magic, and in her place stood a shaggy and threaten- ing ogre, massive and formidable, with long hair falling on his broad shoulders and a huge tangled beard covering his breast. By the gesture of his uplifted arm he seemed on the point of making me pay dear for my unau- thorized interview with his ' guardian angel,' but in the act of smiting he paused. A singu- lar flash came out of his blue eyes : he sud- denly caught me by the shoulder and hand and pulled me into the cottage ; and then, as he stared at me, he said, with a gulp in his throat, '■ Keppell, Keppell ! You came to see me, and I was going to strike you ! My dear boy -— my dear old boy ! ' " At the first glance Jack had seemed to me incredibly changed, and not for the better; but after we had conversed together for half an hour I began to get him back again, so to speak. He looked much older than the four years which had passed would ordinarily jus- tify. His face was fuller, and it was marked with furrows of grief, violent passions, and in- temperance. His whole appearance was neg- lected and slothful ; but within all, or behind all, I could detect more and more the traces of the gallant soldier and gentleman whom I had known. No doubt, too, the memories con- nected with my presence recalled him unusually to his old self " ' We did n't think of this in India, did we, old man ? ' he said, after a while. ' But it was fate ; it could n't have been otherwise. If it were to do again, I don't believe I would do differently. I assented to all your remonstrances and arguments with my head; but a man's head never leads him, though it pretends to cleverly enough. Come to the bottom of it, it 's his nat- ure, and circumstances. I have lost her, of course, and I 've lost most things ; but — I had her ! God himself can't rob me of that fact. It 's worth all the rest to me ; and I sup- pose it 's all the same to her now. And I fancy, sometimes, that she is with me still, in some way. There 's the little girl, you know.' " He called Edith, and in a moment the child came and stood between his knees, gazing at the stranger with her dark hazel eyes. " ' A man can't call himself good for noth- ing as long as he has this,' said Jack, putting his great hand tenderly on her sunny head. ' She does n't know I 'm a scoundrel and a drunken loafer; and until she does know it there will be something better than that in me. It was a hard time when she came into the world, Keppell,' he continued after a pause; 'so hard, that when her mother died I was glad of it ! But I could n't let the child go : I could n't hat-e stood that.' " ' You can't stay here many years longer, Jack,' I said. ' She will be growing up before you know it, and this is no place in which to edu- cate her. Why don't you take her to America ? She is a lady, and she has a right to lead the life of one. And you — why, man alive, you 're not more than five-and-thirty yet ! You might make a career there : you 've got it in you.' " ' I shall live and die here,' replied he, bringing down his hand heavily on the arm of his chair. ' Whether I 'm thirty-five or ninety-five makes no difference. But I have thought about what you say ; I know the child can't get her rights in such a place as this. I have thought it all over, and I have made up my mind, when she is a few years older, to send her to England and have her taught whatever is becoming to her station. And then she will come back to me.' " ' I don't see the object of that. What use would her education be to her if she spent her life on a promontory in the north of New Zea- land ? It must be the other way ; you must go to her. She will never wish to come back here.' " ' But I say she shall come back ! ' exclaimed Jack, with a passion for which I was hardly prepared. ' She belongs to me, and I '11 have her. I know what she wants ; I can make her comfortable. And when I 'm gone she will have money to live on, and to do as she pleases. I sha'n't live forever ; I shall know when it 's time for me to step out. And that 's one thing that is left to me — I can always step out when I 'm ready ! But, until then, let them thwart me at their peril ! I know my rights, and I '11 have them — and I '11 have Edith.' "He lifted the child up in his great arms and embraced her with a sort of savage ten- derness, glaring out at me as if he half sus- pected me of an intention to defraud him of his treasure. I did not prolong the argument. Jack Hamilton was the headstrong, imperious, THE THIRD OF MARCH. 215 intractable Jack Hamilton still. There was probably more trouble ahead for him, but warnings would be useless. I talked of other things, and my host, recovering from his per- turbation, showed me about his place and made me inspect the garden on the farther side of the fence, which he had cultivated for Edith, and in which she could amuse herself at ease, as much out of the reach of the world as if she were in another planet. Then he took me up the narrow steps of the tower, on the apex of which was a large lantern with a pow- erful reflector, capable of throwing a ray ten miles at least. ' That 's Edith's candle,' said he, with a smile. ' She 's been the cause of saving more lives and money than all the other little girls in the world.' " ' Now that you 've seen heaven, I '11 show you hell,' he continued, as he led the way into the front part of the house, which was entirely isolated from the other side. Here were the ma- terials of his trade — barrels and demijohns of liquor, bottles and glasses, pipes and tobacco ; and a big iron-bound chest behind the bar, the lid of which he lifted, was more than half full of gold sovereigns. " ' No one comes here till after she 's asleep,' he remarked. ' From then till two in the morn- ing there are lively times, I can tell you ! Not much like what we used to have at our mess- table, either. But it suits me, it suits the devil in me ; and as long as the devil 's there, he has to be attended to. There 's money in it, too — don't forget that ; and though it may be bad morals to say that I get in hell the means to enjoy heaven, that 's the cold truth, at any rate.' " As the day wore on, the harder and grim- mer aspects of the man began to crop out more and more frequently; and after I had complied once or twice with his invitation to drink with him, I saw that he would presently change for the worse. Accordingly I bade him farewell betimes and rode away ; but when I glanced back from the bend in the road above the vil- lage, I saw him standing on the tower with Edith in his arms, waiting to light the lamp when the sun should sink below the horizon. " Destiny plays such pranks with me," con- tinued the Captain, " that I never venture to predict where I shall be next year or even next week; but I certainly expected and intended to see Jack again much sooner than was actu- ally the case. For, as near as I can calculate, it was ten years before I again set foot on the shore of New Zealand, and wondered, but a little dreaded to inquire, how my old friend had fared during the interval. '"•Oh, I fancy he 's all right,' said Duane, in answer to my question. (Duane himself had prospered greatly, and was in the way of rismg to tke highest positions ultimately.) ' He gets drunk rather more thoroughly than when you were here before ; but he has n't killed any- body lately, that I 've heard of Oh, by the bye, that daughter of his, — a pretty little thing, however she got her beauty, — he sent her to England to be educated: his brother. Lord , promised to look out for her. She 's been gone two or three years now. Jack intends her to come back here when she has finished her course ; but, between you and me, that 's all nonsense. The folks over there will keep hold of her until Jack has passed in his chips, as he would phrase it; and at the rate he 's go- ing now that probably won't be long. When he 's once out of the way, the girl may possibly come to something after all. There are plenty of fellows in decent circumstances who would be glad to marry Lord 's niece, even if there were something a little off color about the circumstances of the mother's wedding.' " ' I should n't be surprised,' said I ; and that evening I set out for the domain of Happy Jack. It was the night between the second and the third of March. There was to be a full moon, and I anticipated a quiet and com- fortable ride along a very fair road. But a storm arose soon after I started, and increased until it blew a hurricane. I have seldom passed a more arduous night: I was blown down, horse and man, three times ; I was drenched with rain, and had most of my clothes torn off me ; and it was noon before I reached the village, in a sorry plight. By that time the catastrophe which concludes my story had oc- curred, and I give you the particulars as I picked them up and pieced them together af- terwards. " In pursuance of his determination. Jack had sent his daughter, when she was ten years of age, to a private school in England ; the child being accompanied on the voyage thither by the family of a member of the Government, returning on account of ill health. The school was near London, and Edith remained there under the supervision of Lord and his wife. For two years all went well, and Edith wrote letters to her father by every mail. " Jack himself meanwhile went on much as usual, except that he drank more than ever; but he still kept his lighthouse in order, and every evening, no matter how much liquor he had aboard, he never failed to light the lamp as the sun went down. This had, indeed, be- come a sort of religious observance with him ; and it was the general impression that, how- ever bad he might be, he would become much worse if ever he were to relinquish the per- formance of this duty. It was the symbolic link which held him to the gentler and nobler side of humanity. It was connected with the 2l6 THE THIRD OF MARCH. thought of his daughter, and, through he*, of her mother, and of all that was dearest and saddest to him in life. " But at length he received a letter that seemed to disturb him greatly. What its con- tents were no one knew at the time; but it afterwards appeared that it embodied a sug- gestion that Edith, after finishing her schooling, should be taken into Lord 's family (they were very fond of the child, and had no chil- dren of their own) and, under their auspices, introduced to London society. It was an ar- rangement which was doubtless meant kindly, and which most men in Jack's position would have been glad to agree to. But Jack was not like most men. " I can partly imagine how it seemed to the lonely father, in his remote, sea-beaten prom- ontory in the Antipodes. For the good of his daughter he had given up, for a term of years, the enjoyment of her companionship — an enjoyment the intensity of which v/as not to be measured by ordinary standards. All the better part of his stormy and wasted soul lived in her, and drew its only solace from her. And now it was proposed to take her away from him forever. His wrath and indignation passed all bounds of expression or statement. He swore an oath that it should not be so. ' I '11 have her back here,' he was heard to say, 'if it costs her life ! Dead or alive, she shall come back, and never see England again ! ' " He forthwith wrote a letter to his brother, couched in terms which probably left the latter no choice or latitude of procedure, to say the least. Edith was to take the next vessel sailing for New Zealand. She was to wait for noth- ing, and was to sail, even if she were the only passenger on board. Having issued his com- mands, he had to wait until they had been re- ceived and complied with. "He bore the time of waiting ill : his tem- per, which never had been easy, became well- nigh intolerable; and at length people were almost afraid to visit his shop for their liquor. He hesitated at no violence if provoked, and what might provoke him no one could tell be- forehand. He drank constantly, and sometimes to the point of stupefaction ; but still, through all, he kept the lantern in the tower alight; and sometimes, in the mornings, he would be seen standing there and gazing northwards, as if on the lookout for the sails that were bearing his daughter back to him. " One day, however, he had been in an unusually savage mood even for him; and finally, in an access of frenzy, with blows and threats he drove every one out of his place. Then he shut himself up in his empty house and drank. The sunset hour arrived, and he rose mechanically and staggered up the steps of his tower. A storm had arisen, and the sea was leaping bodily against the black coast and dashing itself into a yeasty mass of foam. The sun was already set. Jack looked out across the frantic war of winds and waters with a sullen and angry frown. Then suddenly, with an oath, he raised his hand and dashed the lamp into flinders. ' Curse the ships ! ' muttered he. ' Let 'em sink and go to perdi- tion : they '11 find me there ! ' And after gaz- ing at the ruins of the lamp a moment, he turned away with a laugh and stumbled down the stairs to his room, where he threw himself on the bed and slept heavily till far into the morning. "When he awoke, the clouds had broken' away, the wind had ceased, and the sun was up. He stej^ped out into the open air, and looked seaward. Something was visible on the outer reef — a dark hull, over which the waves broke heavily, and from which projected the stumps of three broken masts, with tangled cordage. It was all that was left of a large merchant vessel. Broken fragments of the wreck were tossing here and there in the ofiing, or beating against the shore. " Wlien Jack^realized what had happened, he laughed. • The ship looked as if she might have carried a valuable cargo, and there would be good findings down among the rocks. And the crew, where were they ? ' I shall have plenty of company,' said Jack to himself; ' and they '11 be a quieter set, I fancy, than most that come here. Well, here goes for a morning call ! ' " It was a beautiful morning, and no sound disturbed its peace except the musical boom- ing of the surf. The air was fresh and invig- orating, and pure as the breath of an angelic spirit. It was such a day as makes the evil and sorrow of the world seem like the dream of an uneasy night. As Jack strode downward to- wards the farther point of the headland, with his shaggy hair and beard and massive figure, and with the stateliness of careless strength in his bearing, he looked as one of the early race of mankind may have looked, ages before vice and violence had disfigured the Divine image. But he was taking the last steps of a career which hardly his sternest enemy would have wished to prolong. " In a narrow inlet, partly protected from the deep undulations of the outer breakers, a piece of wreck floated and chafed against the rocky margin. The sunshine fell softly upon it, and upon the golden hair and loose white garments of the little maiden who was lashed to it. The stillness of her face, white and in- nocent as the soul that had so lately lived in it, was not disturbed by the transparent ripples that washed over it. Several minutes passed, ''LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGOr 217 silently, but terrible with the agony of a break- ing human heart. The father stood at first quite without breath or "motion ; then a shud- der passed through his body, and he fell like a ruined tower. His heart still beat when they found him ; but before the sun had gone down upon that third of March his spirit had passed into the abyss." The Captain leaned forwards, with his el- bows on his knees and his fingers interlaced, gazing into the fire. No one felt like speaking ; but the wind still moaned under the eaves. Julian Hawthorne. "LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO." (the old lady speaks.) ^^I& AST Christmas was a year ago Says I to David, I-says-I, " We 're goin' to mornin' service, so You hitch up right away : I '11 try To tell the girls jes what to do Fer dinner. We '11 be back by two." I did n't wait to hear what he Would more 'n like say back to me. But banged the stable door and flew Back to the house, jes plumb chilled through. Cold ! WooJi I how cold it was ! My-oh ! Frost flyin', and the air, you know-— " Jes sharp enough," heerd David swear, " To shave a man and cut his hair ! " And blow and blow ! and snoiv and snow, Where it had drifted 'long the fence And 'crost the road, — some places, though, Jes swep' clean to the gravel, so The goin' was as bad fer sleighs As 't was fer wagons, — and both ways, 'Twixt snowdrifts and the bare ground, I 've Jes wondered we got through alive; I hain't saw nothin' 'fore er sence 'At beat it anywheres I know — Last Christmas was a year ago. And David said, as we set out, 'At Christmas services was 'bout As cold and wuthless kind o' love To offer up as he knowed of; And, as fer Jiini^ he railly thought 'At the Good Bein' up above Would think more of us — as He ought — A-stayin' home on sich a day And thankin' of Him thataway. And jawed on in an undertone, 'Bout leavin' Lide and Jane alone There on the place, and me not there To oversee 'em, and p'pare The stuffin' fer the turkey, and The sass and all, you understand. I 've always managed David by Jes sayin' nothin'. That was why He 'd chased Tide's beau away — 'cause Lidc Was needin' jabbin', I She 'd alius take up Perry's side When David tackled him ; and so, Last Christmas was a year ago, — Er ruther, 'bout a week afore^ — David and Perry 'd quarr'l'd about Some tom-fool argyment, you know. And Pap told him to " Jes git out O' there, and not to come no more, And, when he went, to shet the door I " And as he passed the winder, we Saw Perry, white as white could be, March past, onhitch his boss, and light A i-L'ARIi. eral conditions. The place is the beating heart of the great West End, yet its main features are a shabby, stuccoed hospital, the low park- gates, in their neat but unimposing frame, the drawing-room windows of Apsley House and of the commonplace residential fac^ades on the little terrace beside it ; to which must be added, of course, the only item in the whole prospect that is in the least monumental — the arch spanning the private road which skirts the gardens of Buckingham Palace. This structure is now bereaved of the rueful effigy which used to surmount it, — the Iron Duke in the guise of a tin soldier, — and has not been enriched by the transaction as much as might have been expected. There is a fine view of Piccadilly and Knightsbridge, and of the noble mansions, as the house-agents call them, of Grosvenor Place, together with a sense of gen- erous space beyond the vulgar little railing of the Green Park ; but except for the impression that there would be room for something better, there is nothing in all this that speaks to the imagination ; almost as much as the grimy desert of Trafalgar Square the prospect con- veys the idea of an opportunity wasted. All the same, on a fine day in spring, it has an expressiveness of which I shall not pretend to explain the source further than to say that the flood of life and luxury is immeasurably great there. The edifices are mean, but the social stream itself is monumental, and to an observer not positively stolid there is more excitement and suggestion than I can give a reason for in the long, distributed waves of traffic, with the ste^^dy policeman marking their rhythm, which roll together and apart for so many hours. Then the great dim city becomes bright and kind, the pall of smoke turns into a veil of haze, carelessly worn, the air is colored, and almost scented, by -the presence of the big- gest society in the world, and most of the things that meet the eye — or perhaps I should say more of them, for the most, in London, is no doubt ever the realm of the dingy — present themselves as " well appointed." Everything shines more or less, from the window-panes to the dog-collars. So it all looks, with its myriad variations and qualifications, to one who sur- veys it over the apron of a hansom, while that vehicle of vantage, better than any box at the opera, spurts and slackens with the current. It is not in a hansom, however, that we have figured our punctual young man, whom we must not desert, as he fares to the south-east, and who has only to cross Hyde Park Corner to find his way all grassy again. I have a weakness for the convenient, familiar, treeless, or almost treeless, expanse of the Green Park and the friendly part it plays as a kind of en- couragement to Piccadilly. I am so fond of Piccadilly that I am grateful to any one or any thing that does it a service, and nothing is more worthy of appreciation than the south- ward look it is permitted to enjoy just after it passes Devonshire House — a sweep of hori- zon which it would be difficult to match among other haunts of men, and thanks to which, of a summer's day, you may spy, beyond the browsed pastures of the foreground and. LONDON, 229 r t' »!« ■, 'i 'V PICCADILLY. middle distance, beyond the cold chimneys of Buckingham Palace, and the towers of West- minster, and the swarming riverside, and all the southern parishes, the hard modern twinkle of the roof of the Crystal Palace. If the Green Park is familiar, there is still less of the exclusive in its pendant, as one may call it, — for it literally hangs from the other, down the hill, — the remnant of the former garden of the queer, shabby old palace whose Vol. XXXVIT.— 32. black, inelegant face stares up St. James's street. This popular resort has a great deal of char- acter, but I am free to confess that much of its character comes from its nearness to the Westminster slums. It is a park of intimacy, and perhaps the most democratic corner of London, in spite of its being in the royal and military quarter and close to all kinds of state- liness. There are io^w hours of the day when a thousand smutty children are not sprawling 230 LONDON. over it, and the unemployed lie thick on the grass and cover the benches with a brotherhood of greasy corduroys. If the London parks are the drawing-rooms and clubs of the poor, — that is, of those poor (I admit it cuts down the number) who live near enough to them to reach them, — these particular grass-plots and alleys may be said to constitute the very salon of the slums. I know not why, being such a region of nothing left but to go on to his work — which he will find close at hand. He will have come the whole way from the far north-west on the turf, which is what was to be demonstrated. I FEEL as if I were taking a tone almost of boastfulness, and no doubt the best way to con- sider the matter is simply to say — without SOUTH LONDON. greatness, — great towers, great names, great memories; at the foot of the Abbey the Par- liament, the fine fragment of Whitehall, with the quarters of the Guards of the sovereign right and left, — but the edge of Westminster, evokes as many associations of misery as of empire. The neighborhood has been much purified of late, but it still contains a collection of specimens — though it is far from unique in this — of the low black element. The air always seems to me heavy and thick, and here more than elsewhere one hears old England— the panting, smoke-stained Titan of Matthew Ar- nold's fine poem — draw her breath with effort. In fact one is nearer to her heroic lungs, if those organs are figured by the great pinnacled and fretted talking-house on the edge of the river. But this same dense and conscious air plays such everlasting tricks to the eye that the For- eign Ofiice, as you see it from the bridge, often looks romantic, and the sheet of water it over- hangs poetic — suggests an Indian palace bathing its feet in the Ganges. If our pedes- trian achieves such a comparison as this, he has going into the treachery of reasons — that, for one's self, one likes this part or the other. Yet this course would not be unattended with dan- ger, inasmuch as at the end of a few such pro- fessions we might find ourselves committed to a tolerance of much that is deplorable. Lon- don is so clumsy and brutal, and has gathered together so many of the darkest sides of life, that it is almost ridiculous to talk of her as a lover talks of his mistress, and almost frivolous to appear to ignore her disfigurements and cruelties. She is like a mighty ogress who de- vours human flesh ; but to me it is a mitigat- ing circumstance — though it may not seem so to every one™ that the ogress herself is human. It is not in wantonness that she fills her maw, but to keep herself alive and do her tremen- dous work. She has no time for fine discrimi- nations, but after all she is as good-natured as she is huge, and the more you stand up to her, as the phrase is, the better she takes the joke of it. It is mainly when you fall on your face before her that she gobbles you up. She does n't care much what she takes, so long as LONDON. 231 she has her stint, and the smallest push to the right or the left will divert her wavering bulk from one form of prey to another. It is not to be denied that the heart tends to grow hard in her company ; but she is a capital antidote to the morbid, and to live with her successfully is an education of the temper, a consecration of one's private philosophy. She gives one a surface for which in a rough world one can never be too thankful. She may take away reputations, but she forms character. She teaches her victims not to " mind," and the great danger, with her, is perhaps that they shall learn the lesson too well. It is sometimes a wonder to ascertain what they do mind, the best-seasoned of her chil- dren. Many of them assist, without winking, at the most unfathomable dramas, and the com- mon speech of others denotes a familiarity with the horrible. It is her theory that she both produces and appreciates the exquisite; but if you catch her in flagrant repudiation of both responsibilities and confront her with the shortcoming, she gives you a look, with a shrug of her colossal shoulders, which establishes a private relation with you for evermore. She seems to say, " Do you really take me so seri- ously as that, you dear, devoted, voluntary dupe, and don't you know what an immeas- urable humbug I am ? " You reply that you shall know it henceforth ; but your tone is good-natured, with a touch of the cynicism that she herself has taught you ; for you are aware that if she makes herself out better than she is, she also makes herself out much worse. She is immensely democratic, and that, no doubt, is part of the manner in which she is salutary to the individual ; she teaches him his " place " by an incomparable discipline, but deprives him of complaint by letting him see that she has exactly the same ferule for every one else. When he has swallowed the lesson he may enjoy the rude but unfailing justice by which, under her eye, reputations and positions elsewhere esteemed great are reduced to the relative. There are so many reputations, so many positions, that supereminence breaks down, and it is difficult to be so rare that Lon- don can't match you. It is a part of her good- nature, and one of her clumsy coquetries, to pretend, sometimes, that she really can't, as when she takes it into her head to hunt the lion or form a ring round a celebrity. But this artifice is so transparent that the lion must be very candid or the celebrity very obscure to be taken by it. The business is altogether sub- jective, as the philosophers say, and the great city is primarily looking after herself. Celebri- ties are convenient, — they are one of the things that people can be asked to " meet," — and lion- cutlets, put upon the ice, will nourish a family through periods of dearth. This is what I mean by calling London dem- ocratic. You may be in it, of course, without being of it; but from the moment you <^r 1 h. > «l-:^r,;''-^"^rt- ^^^^ 1— _^ THE HIGHWAY AT AGUAS CALIENTES. A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO, 251 But there is something more. To the left, along the whole length of the canal, or sluiceway, as far as the eye can reach, are scattered hun- dreds of the descendants of Montezuma, of both sexes and all ages, quietly taking their from the overflow of the baths adjoining, which they can and do use, but the privacy is none the greater. Down the road, nearer the city^ there are the " Bahos Grandes," where for one peseta — about twenty-five cents — they can baths at high noon on a public highway, with obtain a bath with all the encircling privacy of IN THE AFTERGLOW. only such privacy as the republic of Mexico and the blue sky of heaven afford. Up and down the curious inland Long Branch rows of heads bob up from the sluice- way and smile good-naturedly as I draw near. They are not abashed or disturbed in the slight- est degree ; they are perhaps more concerned lest I crowd them out of their places, theirs by right of prior occupancy. Even the young women lying on the bank in the shade, with one end of a zarape tossed over their backs, their only other garment washed and drying in the sun, seem more interested in the sketch- trap than in him who carries it. Their great gazelle eyes express only curiosity — nothing more. It is one of the customs of the country, and they must bathe here or not at all. It is true that near the springs above, within a mile of this spot, there is a small pond, filled stone walls and with the additional comforts of a crash towel one foot square and a cake of soap of the size and density of a grape-shot. But then the wages of a native for a whole day's w^ork is less than one peseta, and w^hen he gets this coin every centavo in it is needed for the inside of his dust-covered body. Nor can he always use his surplus clothing as a shield and cover. He has but one suit, a white shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, so he falls back upon his zarape, handling it as skill- fully and effectively as the Indian women on the great steps leading to the sacred Ganges do their gorgeous colored tunics, slipping the dry one over the wet without much more than a glimpse of finger and toe. From the days of Cortes down to the time of Diaz this people has been humiliated, degraded, and enslaved ; all its patriotism, 252 A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. self-reliance, and independence has long since tethered outside Sipo?ida, their owners drinking been crushed out. It is a serving people ; set pulque within, and then crossed over to where apart and kept apart by a caste as defined and some children were playing " bull-fight." rigid as to-day divides society in Hindustan, When the sun went down I strolled into the infinitely more severe than ever existed in the beautiful garden of San Marcos and sat down most benighted section of our own country in on one of the stone benches surrounding the /////////// ////'// V ^'^?i vU. '}M • ^1 ■ % i i 'J>f^ 5 'i* .V ^^^ W *,-. '1 '»>v,4' ^ rZ;> "^V ^^^A,' * -XJ-wV.' ^ -.•->*tr-.^. i,.-* ^.^ 'fr-'\^ .-1 1^. it ARCADES OF AGUAS CALIENTES. the old plantation days. It has possessed noth- ing in the past but poverty and suffering, and expects nothing more in the future except to sleep, to awake, to be hungry, to sleep again. Sheltered by adobe huts, sleeping upon coarse straw mats, their only utensils the rude earthen vessels they make themselves, their daily food but bruised corn pounded in a stone mortar, the natives pass their lives waiting for the inevitable, without hope and without am- bition. It is not, therefore, from lack of intelligence or ingenuity or capacity that the lot of these descendants of the Aztec warriors is so hope- less, but rather from the social isolation which they are subjected to and which cuts them off from every influence that makes the white man their superior. I continued my rambles, following the high- way into the city, idling about the street and noting queer bits of architecture and odd fig- ures in my sketch-book. I stopped long enough to examine the high saddles of a pair of horses fountain. Here I rested, bathing my face and hands in the cool water of the basin, and talked to the gardener. He was an Indian, quite an old man, and had spent most of his Hfe here. The garden belonged to the city, and he was paid two pesetas a day to take care of his part of it. If I would come in the evening the benches would be full. There were many beau- tiful senoritas in Aguas Calientes, and on Sun- day there would be music. But I must wait until April if I wanted to see the garden — in fact, the whole city — in its gala dress. Then would come the Jiesfa of San Marcos, their patron saint, and strings of lanterns would be hung and lighted, the fountains playing, music everywhere, crowds of people from all the country around, even from the great city of Mexico and as far north as Zacatecas. When I left the gardener he tucked into the strap of my " trap " a cluster of azaleas and in- sisted on going with me to the corner of the cathedral so that he could show me the turn in the next street that led to the pottery market. . A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. 253 All the markets of Aguas Calientes are inter- esting, for the country round about is singu- larly rich and fertile, and fruits and vegetables are raised in abundance. The pottery market is held in a small open square near the general market, surrounded by high buildings. The pottery is piled in great heaps on the ground, and the Indian women, sheltered by huge square and octagon unbrellas made of coarse matting, sit all day serving their customers. At night they burn torches. The other markets are closed at noon. All the pottery is very •cheap, a few centavos covering the cost of al- most any single piece of moderate size, and one peseta giving you possession of the most important specimens in a collection. Each province — in fact, almost every' vil- lage— in Mexico produces aware having more or less distinctly marked characteristics. In Guadalajara the pottery is gray, soft-baked, and unglazed, but highly polished and often deco- rated with stripings of silver and gold bronze : the caraffes, examples of which are common with us, are made here. In Zacatecas the glaze is as hard and brilliant as a piano top, and the small pulque pots and pitchers look like polished mahogany or highly colored meerschaum pipe-bowls. In Puebla a finer ware is made, something between good earth- enware and coarse soft porcelain. It has a thick tin-glaze, and the decoration in strong color is an under- glaze. Here in Aguas Calientes they make not only most of these coarser varieties, but a better grade of gray stoneware covered with a yellow glaze, semi-transparent, with splashings of red flowers and leaves scattered over it. The potters are these much-despised, de- graded peons, who not only work in clay, em- broider in feathers with exquisite results, — an industry of their ancestors, — but make the finest saddles of stamped and incised leather made in the world, besides an infinite variety of horse equipment unknown outside of Mexico. Moreover, in Uruapam they make Japanese lacquers; in Santa Fe, on Lake Patzcuaro, Moorish iridescent ware; and near Puebla, Venetian glass. In a small town in western Mexico I found a glass pitcher, made by a Tlascalan Indian, of such exquisite mold and finish that one unfamiliar with the handiwork of this downtrodden race on seeing it in its place of honor in my studio collection would say, "Ah, Venetian! — -Salviati, of course." From the market I sought the Church of San Diego, with its inlaid wooden floor and quaint doorway richly carved, and as the twi- light settled entered the narrow street that led to my lodgings. At the farther end, beneath an overhanging balcony, I espied a group of children and natives gathered about a band of wandering minstrels. As I drew near I heard the tinkle of a triangle and the thrum of a harp accompanying a weird chant. The quartet, both in appearance, costume, and bearing, were quite different from any of the Indians I had seen about Aguas Calientes, They were much lighter in color and were dis- tinguished by a certain air of independence and dignity. The tallest and oldest of the band held in his left hand a short harp, quite Greek in its design; the youngest shook a tam- bourine, with rim and rattles complete, but without the drum-head; the third tinkled a triangle ; while the fourth, a delicate-looking, large-eyed, straight young fellow, handsome as a Greek god, with teeth like rows of corn, joined in the rhythmic chant. As they stood in the darkening shadows beating time with their sandaled feet, with harp and triangle silhouetted against the evening sky, their zarapes hanging in long straight lines from their shoulders, the whole effect was so thoroughly classic that I could not but recall in the group one of the great friezes of the Parthenon. I lit a cigarette, opened the windows of my balcony, and, placing the bits of pottery I had bought in the market in a row on my window- sill with the old gardener's azaleas in the larg- est jar, listened to the music, .my thoughts full of the day's work and experience. The music ceased. The old minstrel ap- proached the balcony and held up his wide sombrero. I poured into it all my stock of copper coins, '■'- Muchas gracias, Seilor^'' came back in humble acknowledgment. Then they disappeared up the narrow street, and the crowd dispersed, I looked after them long and mus- ingly and surprised myself repeating a bene- diction of the morning, " Con Dios vayan iis- tedes mis amigosy E. HolJdusoji SniitJi. Vol, XXXVII.— 35. STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 11. FRAN9OISE IN LOUISIANA. BY GEORGE W. CABLE, Author of " The Grandissimes," " Bonaventure," etc. EARS passed by. Our war of the Revolution was over. The Indians of Louisi- ana and Florida were all greedy, smiling gift-takers of his Catholic Majesty. So were some others not Indians; and the Spanish governors of Louisiana, scheming with them for the acquisition of Kentucky and the regions intervening, had allowed an interprovincial commerce to spring up. Flatboats and barges came floating down the Mississippi past the plantation home where little Suzanne and FranQoise were growing up to v/omanhood. Many of the immigrants who now came to Lou- isiana were the royalist noblesse flying from the horrors of the French Revolution. Governor Carondelet was strengthening his fortifications around New Orleans ; for Creole revolutionists had slipped away to Kentucky and were there plotting an armed descent in flatboats upon his little capital, where the rabble were singing the terrible songs of bloody Paris. Agents of the Revolution had come from France and so " contaminated," as he says, '' the greater part of the province " that he kept order only " at the cost of sleepless nights, by frightening some, punishing others, and driving several out of the colony." It looks as though Suzanne had caught a touch of disrelish for les aristocrates, whose necks the songs of the day were promis- ing to the lampposts. To add to all these com- motions, a hideous revolution had swept over San Domingo; the slaves in Louisiana had heard of it, insurrection was feared, and at length, in 1794, when Suzanne was seventeen and Fran^oise fifteen, it broke out on the Mis- sissippi no great matter over a day's ride from their own home, and twenty-three blacks were gibbeted singly at intervals all the way down by their father's plantation and on to New Or- leans, and were left swinging in the weather to insure the peace and felicity of the land. Two other matters are all we need notice for the ready comprehension of Fran^oise's story. Immigration was knocking at every gate of the province, and citizen Etienne de Bore had just made himself forever famous in the history of Louisiana by producing merchantable sugar ; land was going to be valuable, even back on the wild prairies of Opelousas. and Attakapas, where, twenty years before, the Acadians, — the .cousins of Evangeline, — wandering from far Nova Scotia, had settled. Such was the re- gion and such were the times when it began to be the year 1795. By good fortune one of the undestroyed frag- ments of Frangoise's own manuscript is its first page. She was already a grandmother forty- three years old when in 1822 she wrote the tale she had so often told. Part of the dedica- tion to her only daughter and namesake — one line, possibly two — has been torn off, leaving only the words, " ma fille unique a la grasse [meaning 'grace'] dedieu [sicj," over her sig- nature and the date, " 14 Julet [sic], 1822." INTRODUCTION. It is to give pleasure to my dear daughter Fannie and to her children that I write this journey. I shall be well satisfied if I can suc- ceed in giving them this pleasure : by the grace of God, Amen. Papa, Mr. Pierre Bossier, planter of St. James parish, had been fifteen days gone to the city (New Orleans) in his skiff with two rowers, Louis and Baptiste, when, returning, he em- braced us all, gave us some caramels which he had in his pockets, and announced that he counted on leaving us again in four or five days to go to Attakapas. He had long been speaking of going there. Papa and mamma were German, and papa loved to travel. When he first came to Louisiana it was with no ex- pectation of staying. But here he saw mamma; he loved her, married her, and bought a very fine plantation, where he cultivated indigo. You know they blue clothes with that drug, and dye cottonade and other things. There we, their eight children, were born. ... When my father used to go to New Orleans he went in his skiff, with a canopy over his head to keep off the sun, and two rowers, who sang as they rowed. Sometimes papa took me with him, and it was very entertaining. We would pass the nights of our voyage at the houses of STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. 255 papa's friends [des zami de papa]. Sometimes mamma would come, and Suzanne always — always. She was the daughter next older than I. She barely missed being a boy. She w^as eighteen years of age, went hunting with our father, was skillful with a gun, and swam like a fish. Papa called her " m.y son." You must understand the two boys were respectively but two years and three months old, and papa, who greatly desired a son, had easily made one of Suzanne. My father had brought a few books with him to Louisiana, and among them, you may well suppose, were several volumes of travel. For myself, I rarely touched them; but they were the only books that Suzanne read. And you may well think, too, that my father had no sooner spoken of his intention than Su- zanne cried : " I am going with you, am I not, papa ? " "Naturally," replied my father; "andFran- 9oise shall go also." Francoise — that was I ; poor child of six- teen, who had but six months before quitted the school-bench, and totally unlike my sister- blonde, where Suzanne was dark; timid, even cowardly, while she had the hardihood and courage of a young lioness ; ready to • cry at sight of a wounded bird, while she, gun in hand, brought down as much game as the most skillful hunter. I exclaimed at my father's speech. I had heard there were many Indians in Attakapas; the name means man-eaters. I have a foolish terror of Indians, and a more reasonable one for man-eaters. But papa and Suzanne mocked at my fears ; and as, after all, I burned with de- sire for the journey, it was decided that I should go with them. Necessarily we wanted to know how we were to go — whether we should travel by skiff, and how many negroes and negresses would go with us. For you see, my daughter, young people in 1795 were exactly what they are in 1822; they could do nothing by themselves, but must have a domestic to dress and undress them. Especially in traveling, where one had to take clothes out of trunks and put them back again, assistance became an absolute necessity. Think, then, of our astonishment, of our vexa- tion, when papa assured us that he would not take a single slave; that my sister and I would be compelled to help each other, and that the skiff would remain behind, tied up at the land- ing where it then lay. " But explain yourself, Papa, I beg of you," cried Suzanne, with her habitual petulance. " That is what I am trying to do," said he. " If you will listen in silence, I will give you all the explanation you want." Here, my daughter, to save time, I will bor- row my father's speech and tell of the trip he had made to New Orleans ; how he had there found means to put into execution his journey to Attakapas, and the companions that were to accompany him. CHAPTER I. MAKING UP THE EXPEDITION. In 1795 New Orleans was nothing but a mere market town. The cathedral, the con- vent of the Ursuiines, five or six cafes, and about a hundred houses were all of it.^ Can you believe, there were but two dry-goods stores ! And what fabulous prices we had to pay ! Pins twenty dollars a paper. Poor peo- ple and children had to make shift with thorns of orange and mnourette [honey locust?]. A needle cost fifty cents, very indifferent stock- ings five dollars a pair, and other things ac- cordingly. On the levee was a little pothouse of the lowest sort ; yet from that unclean and smoky hole was destined to come one of the finest fortunes in Louisiana. They called the pro- prietor " Pere la Chaise." He was a little old marten-faced man, always busy and smil- ing, who every year laid aside immense profits. Along the crazy walls extended a few rough shelves covered with bottles and decanters. Three planks placed on boards formed the counter, with Pere la Chaise always behind it. There were two or three small tables, as many chairs, and one big wooden bench. Here gathered the city's working-class, and often among them one might find a goodly nuraber of the city's elite ; for the wine and the beer of the old cabaretier were famous, and one could be sure in entering there to hear all the news told and discussed. . By day the place was quiet, but with even- ing it became tumultuous. Pere la Chaise, happily, did not lose his head ; he found means to satisfy all, to smooth down quarrels without calling in the police, to get rid of drunkards, and to make delinquents pay up. My father knew the place, and never failed to pay it a visit when he went to New Orleans. Poor, dear father ! he loved to talk as much as to travel. Pere la Chaise was acquainted with him. One evening papa entered, sat down at one of the little tables, and bade Pere la Chaise bring a bottle of his best wine. The place was already full of people, drinking, talk- ing, and singing. A young man of twenty-six or twenty-seven entered almost timidly and sat down at the table where my father was — for he saw that all the other places were occupied — and ordered a half-bottle of cider. He was a 1 An extreme underestimate, easy for a girl to make of a scattered town hidden among gardens and groves. — Translator. 256 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA, Norman gardener. My father knew him by sight; he had met him here several times without speaking to him. You recognized the peasant at once; and yet his exquisite neatness, the gentleness of his face, distinguished him from his kind. Joseph Carpentier was dressed ^ in a very ordinary gray woolen coat; but his coarse shirt was very white, and his hair, when he took off his broad-brimmed hat, was well combed and glossy. As Carpentier was opening his bottle a sec- ond frequenter entered the cabaret. I'his was a man of thirty or thirty-five, with strong feat- ures and the frame of a Hercules. An expres- sion of frankness and gayety overspread his sunburnt face. Cottonade pantaloons, stuffed into a pair of dirty boots, and a vareitse of the same stuff made up his dress. His vareuse, unbuttoned, showed his breast, brown and hairy; and a horrid cap with long hair covered, without concealing, a mass of red locks that a comb had never gone through. A long whip, the stock of which he held in his hand, was coiled about his left arm. He advanced to the counter and asked for a glass of brandy. He was a drayman named John Gordon— an Irishman. But, strange, John Gordon, glass in hand, did not drink; Carpentier, with his fingers round the neck of the bottle, failed to pour his cider; and my father himself, his eyes attracted to another part of the room, forgot his wine. Every one was looking at an in- dividual gesticulating and haranguing in the middle of the place, to the great amusement of all. My father recognized him at first sight. He was an Italian about the age of Gordon; short, thick-set, powerful, swarthy, with the neck of a bull and hair as black as ebony. He was telling rapidly, with strong gestures, in an almost incomprehensible mixture of Spanish, English, French, and Italian, the story of a hunting party that he had made up five years before. This was Mario Carlo. A Neapolitan by birth, he had for several years worked as a blacksmith on the plantation of one of our neighbors, M. Alphonse Ferret. Often papa had heard him tell of this hunt, for nothing could be more amusing than to listen to Carlo. Six young men, with Carlo as sailor and cook, had gone on a two-months' expedition into the country of the Attakapas. "Yes," said the Italian, in conclusion, " game never failed us; deer, turkeys, ducks, snipe, two or three bears a week. But the sublimest thing was the rich land. Ah ! one must see it to believe it. Plains and forests full of animals, lakes and bayous full of fish. Ah ! fortune is there. For five years I have dreamed, I have worked, with but one object in view; 1 In all likelihood described here as seen by the writer herself later, on the journey. and to-day the end is reached. I am ready to go. I want only two companions to aid me in the long journey, and those I have come to look for here." John Gordon stepped forward, laid a hand upon the speaker's shoulder, and said : " My friend, I am your man." Mario Carlo seized the hand and shook it with all his force. ' " You will not repent the step. But " — turning again to the crowd — "we want one more." Joseph Carpentier rose slowly and advanced to the two men. " Comrades, I will be your companion if you will accept me." Before separating, the three drank together and appointed to meet the next day at the house of Gordon, the Irishman. When my father saw Gordon and Carpen- tier leave the place, he placed his hand on Mario's shoulder and said in Italian, " My boy, I want to talk with you." At that time, as now, parents were very scrupulous as to the society into which they in- troduced their children, especially their daugh- ters ; and papa knew of a certain circumstance in Carlo's life to which my mother might greatly object. But he knew the man had an honest and noble heart. He passed his arm into the Italian's and drew him to the inn where my fa- ther was stopping, and to his room. Here he learned from Mario that he had bought one of those great barges that bring down provisions from the West, and which, when unloaded,, the owners count themselves lucky to sell at any reasonable price. When my father proposed to Mario to be taken as a passenger the poor devil's joy knew no bounds ; but it disappeared when papa added that he should take his two daughters with him. The trouble was this : Mario was taking with him in his flatboat his wife and his four chil- dren; and wife and four children were simply — mulatto es. However, then as now, we hardly noticed those things, and the idea never en- tered our minds to inquire into the conduct of our slaves. Suzanne and I had known Celeste, Mario's wife, very well before her husband bought her. She had been the maid of Marianne Ferret, and on great occasions Marianne had sent her to us to dress our hair and to prepare our toilets. We were therefore enchanted to learn that she would be with us on board the flatboat, and that papa had en- gaged her services in place of the attendants we had to leave behind. It was agreed that for one hundred dollars Mario Carlo would receive all three of us as passengers, that he would furnish a room sim- ply but comfortably, that papa would share this room with us, that Mario would supply. STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 257 our table, and that his wife would serve as maid and laundress. It remained to be seen now whether our other fellow-travelers were mar- ried, and, if so, what sort of creatures their wives were. [The next day the four intended travelers met at Gordon's house. Gordon had a wife, Maggie, and a son, Patrick, aged twelve, as unlovely in outward aspect as were his parents. Carpentier, who showed himself even more plainly than on the previous night a man of na- tive refinement, confessed to a young wife with- out offspring. Mario told his story of love and alliance with one as fair of face as he, and whom only cruel law forbade him to call wife and compelled him to buy his children ; and told the story so well that at its close the father of Fran^oise silently grasped the narrator's hand, and Carpentier, reaching across the table where they sat, gave his, saying : " You are an honest man. Monsieur Carlo." " Will your wife think so ? " asked the Ital- ian. " My wife comes from a country where there are no prejudices of race." Fran9oise takes the pains to say of this part of the story that it was not told her and Su- zanne at this time, but years afterward, when they were themselves wives and mothers. When, on the third day, her father saw Car- pentier's wife at the Norman peasant's lodg- ings, he was greatly surprised at her appearance and manner, and so captivated by them that he proposed that their two parties should make one at table during the projected voyage — a proposition gratefully accepted. Then he left New Orleans for his plantation home, intend- ing to return immediately, leaving his daugh- ters in St. James to prepare for the journey and await the arrival of the flatboat, which must pass their home on its way to the distant wilds of Attakapas.] CHAPTER II. THE EMBARKATION. You see, my dear child, at that time one post-office served for three parishes : St. James, St. John the Baptist, and St. Charles. It was very far from us, at the extremity of vSt. John the Baptist, and the mail came there on the first of each month. We had to pay — though the price was no object — fifty cents postage on a letter. My father received several journals, mostly Euro- pean. There was only one paper, French and Spanish, published in New Orleans — " The Ga- zette. "^ To send to the post-office was an aftair 1 Another error easy to make. For " Gazette " read " Moniteur " ; " The Gazette " appeared a little'later. of state. Our father, you see, had not time to write us; he was obliged to come to us himself. But such journeys were a matter of course in those days. " And above all things, my children," said my father, " don't have too much baggage." 1 should not have thought of rebelling ; but Suzanne raised loud cries, saying it was an absolute necessity that we go with papa to New Orleans, so as not to find ourselves on our journey without traveling-dresses, new neckerchiefs, and a number of things. In vain did poor papa endeavor to explain that we were going into a desert worse than Arabia; Su- zanne put her two hands to her ears and would hear nothing, until, weary of strife, poor papa yielded. Our departure being decided upon, he wished to start even the very next day ; and while we were instructing our sisters Elmore and Marie concerning some trunks that we should leave behind us, and which they must pack and have ready for the flatboat, papa recommended to mamma a great slaughter of fowls, etc., and especially to have ready for embarkation two of our best cows. Ah ! in those times if the planter wished to live well he had to raise everything himself, and the poultry yard and the dairy were something curi- ous to see. Dozens of slaves were kept busy in them constantly. When my mother had raised two thousand chickens, besides turkeys, ducks, geese, guinea-fowls, and pea-fowls, she said she had lost her crop. 2 And the quantity of butter and cheese ! And all this without counting the sauces, the jellies, the preserves, the gherkins, the syrups, the brandied fruits. And not a ham, not a chicken, not a pound of butter was sold; all was served on the mas- ter's table, or, very often, given to those who stood in need of them. Where, now, can you find such profusion ? Ah ! commerce has de- stroyed industry. The next day, after kissing mamma and the children, we got into the large skift' with papa, and three days later stepped ashore in New Orleans. We remained there a little over a week, preparing our travehng-dresses. Despite the admonitions of papa, we went to the fash- ionable modiste of the day, Madame Cinthelia Lefranc, and ordered for each a suit that cost one hundred and fifty dollars. The costume was composed of a petticoat of caniayeti, very short, caught up in puffs on the side by a pro- fusion of ribbons ; and a very long-pointed black velvet jacket (casaqi/in), laced in the back with gold and trimmed on tlie front with several rows of giU buttons. The sleeves stopped at the elbows and were trimmed with lace. 2 The translator feels constrained to say that he was not on the spot. 258 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. Now, my daughter, do you know what camayeu was ? You now sometimes see an imitation of it in door and window curtains. It was a stuff of great fineness, yet resembhng not a Httle the unbleached cotton of to-day, and over which were spread very briUiant designs of prodigious size. For example, Suzanne's petticoat showed bunches of great radishes — not the short kind — surrounded by long, green leaves and tied with a yellow cord ; while on mine were roses as big as a baby's head, interlaced with leaves and buds and gathered into bouquets graced with a blue ribbon. It was ten dollars an ell ; but, as the petticoats were very short, six ells was enough for each. At that time real hats were unknown. For driving or for evening they placed on top of the high, powdered hair what they called a catogan, a little bonnet of gauze or lace trimmed with ribbons ; and during the day a sunbonnet of silk or velvet. You can guess that neither Suzanne nor I, in spite of papa's instructions, forgot these. Our traveling-dresses were gray cirsacas, — the skirt all one, short, without puffs; the jacket coming up high and with long sleeves, — a sun- bonnet of cirsacas, blue stockings, embroidered handkerchief or blue cravat about the neck, and high-heeled shoes. As soon as Celeste heard of our arrival in New Orleans she hastened to us. She was a good creature ; humble, respectful, and always ready tp serve. She was an excellent cook and washer, and, what we still more prized, a lady's maid and hairdresser of the first order. My sister and I were glad to see her, and overwhelmed her with questions about Carlo, their children, their plans, and our traveling companions. " Ah ! Mamzelle Suzanne, the little Madame Carpentier seems to me a fine lady, ever so gen- teel ; but the Irishwoman ! Ah ! g7'and Dieu ! she puts me in mind of a soldier. I 'm afraid of her. She smokes — she swears — she carries a pistol, like a man." At last the 15th of May came, and papa took us on board the flatboat and helped us to find the way to our apartment. If my father had allowed Carlo, he would have ruined himself in furnishing our room ; but papa stopped him and directed it himself. The flatboat had been divided into four chambers. These were cov- ered by a slightly arching deck, on which the boat was managed by the moving of immense sweeps that sent her forward. The room in the stern, surrounded by a sort of balcony, which Monsieur Carpentier himself had made, belonged to him and his wife ; then came ours, then that of Celeste and her family, and the one at the bow was the Irishwoman's. Carlo and Gordon had crammed the provisions, tools, carts, and plows into the corners of their respective apartments. In the room which our father was to share with us he had had Mario make two wooden frames mo^jnted on feet. These were our beds, but they ( v/ere supplied with good bedding and very white sheets. A large cypress table, on which we saw a pile of books and our workboxes; a washstand, also of cypress, but well furnished and sur- mounted with a mirrox ; our trunks in a corner; three rocking-chairs — this was all our furni- ture. There was neither carpet nor curtain. All were on board except the Carpentier couple. Suzanne was all anxiety to see the Irishwoman. Poor Suzanne ! how distressed she was not to be able to speak English ! So, while I was takmg off my cap'otte — as the sun- bonnet of that day was called — and smooth- ing my hair at the glass, she had already tossed her capotte upon papa's bed and sprung up the ladder that led to the deck. (Each room had one.) I followed a little later and had the satisfaction of seeing Madame Mar- garetto Gordon, commonly called " Maggie " by her husband and '' Maw " by her son Patrick. She was seated on a coil of rope, her son on the boards at her feet. An enormous dog crouched beside them, with his head against Maggie's knee. The mother and son were surprisingly clean. Maggie had on a simple brown calico dress and an apron of blue tick- ing. A big red kerchief was crossed on her breast and its twin brother covered her well combed and greased black hair. On her feet were blue stockings and heavy leather shoes. The blue ticking shirt and pantaloons and waistcoat of Master Pat were so clean that they shone; his black cap covered his hair— as well combed as his mother's ; but he was bare- footed. Gordon, Mario, and Celeste's eldest son, aged thirteen, were busy about the deck ; and papa, his cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, stood looking out on the levee. I sat down on one of the rough benches that had been placed here and there, and pres- sently my sister came and sat beside me. " Madame Carpentier seems to be a laggard," she said. She was burning to see the arrival of her whom we had formed the habit of call- ing " the little French peasant." [Presently Suzanne begins shooting bon- bons at little Patrick, watching the effect out of the corners of her eyes, and by and by gives that smile, all her own, — to which, says Fran- 9oise, all flesh invariably surrendered, — and so became dumbly acquainted ; while Carlo was beginning to swear " fit to raise the dead," writes the memoirist, at the tardiness of the Norman pair. But just then — ] A CARRIAGE drove up to within a few feet of our chaland and Joseph Carpentier alighted, STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 259 paid the driver, and lifted from it one so deli- cate, pretty, and small that you might take her at first glance for a child of ten years. Suzanne and I had risen quickly and came and leaned over the balustrade. To my mortification my sister had passed one arm around the waist of the little Irishman and held one of his hands in hers. Suzanne uttered a cry of astonish- m-cnt. " Look, look, Fran^oise ! " But I was looking, with eyes wide with astonishment. The gardener's wife had alighted, and with her little gloved hand shook out and re-ar- ranged her toilet. That toilet, very simple to the eyes of Madame Carpentier, was what petrified us with astonishment. I am going to describe it to you, my daughter. We could not see her face, for her hood of blue silk, trimmed with a light white fur, was covered with a veil of white lace that entirely concealed her features. Her traveling-dress, like ours, was of cirsacas, but ours was cotton, while hers was silk, in broad rays of gray and blue; and as the weather was a little cool that morning, she had exchanged the unfail- ing casaquin for a sort of camail to match the dress, and trimmed, like the capotte, v/ith a line of white fur. Her petticoat was very short, hghtly puffed on the sides, and ornamented only with two very long pockets trimmed like the camail. Below the folds of the robe were two Cinderella feet in blue silk stockings and black velvet slippers. It was not only the material of this toilet that astonished us, but the way in w^hich it was made. "Maybe she is a modiste. Who knows?" whispered Suzanne. Another thing : Madame Carpentier wore a veil and gloves, two things of which we had heard but which we had never seen. Madame Ferrand had mentioned them, but said that they sold for their weight in gold in Paris and she had not dared import them, for fear she could not sell them in Louisiana. And here was the wife of a laboring gardener, who avowed himself possessor of but tAvo thousand francs, dressed like a duchess and with veil and gloves ! I could but notice with what touching care Joseph assisted his wife on board. He led her straight to her room, and quickly rejoined us on deck to put himself at the disposition of his associates. He explained to Mario his delay, caused by the difficulty of finding a carriage ; at which Carlo lifted his shoulders and grim- aced. Joseph added that madame — I noticed that he rarely called her Alix — was rather tired, and would keep her room until dinner time. Presently our heavy craft was under way. Pressing against the long sweeps, which it re- quired a herculean strength to move, were seen on one side Carlo and his son Celestino, or 'Tino, and on the other Joseph and Gordon. It moved slowly; so slowly that it gave the effect of a great tortoise. CHAPTER III. ALIX CARPENTIER. Towards noon we saw Celeste come on deck with her second son, both carrying baskets full of plates, dishes, covers, and a tablecloth. You remember I have often told you of an awning stretched at the stern of the flatboat ? We found that in fine weather our dining-room was to be under this. There was no table ; the cloth was simply spread on the deck, and those who ate had to sit h la Tiirque or take their plates on their knees. The Irish family ate in their room. Just as we were drawing around our re- past Madame Carpentier, on her husband's arm, came up on deck. Dear little Alix ! I see you yet as I saw you then. And here, twenty-seven years after our parting, I have before me the medallion you gave me, and look tenderly on your dear feat- ures, my friend ! She had not changed her dress ; only she had replaced her camail with a scarf of blue silk about her neck and shoulders and had re- moved her gloves and capiiche. Her rich chest- nut hair, unpowdered, was combed back a la Chinoise, and the long locks that descended upon her shoulders were tied by a broad blue ribbon forming a rosette on the forepart of her head. She wore no jewelry except a pearl at each ear and her wedding ring. Suzanne, who always saw everything, remarked after- ward that Madame Carpentier wore two. " As for her earrings," she added, " they are nothing great. Marianne has some as fine, that cost, I think, ten dollars." Poor Suzanne, a judge of jewelry ! Madame Carpentier's earrings were two great pearls, worth at least two hundred dollars. Never have I met another so charming, so lovely, as Alix Carpentier. Her every movement w^as grace. She moved, spoke, smiled, and in all things acted differently from all the women I had ever met until then. She made one think she had lived in a world all unlike ours; and withal she was simple, sweet, good, and to love her seemed the most natural thing on earth. There was nothing extraordinary in her beauty; the charm was in her intelligence and her goodness. Maggie, the Irishwoman, was very taciturn. She never mingled with us, nor spoke to any one except Suzanne, and to her in monosyl- lables only when addressed. You would see her sometimes sitting alone at the bow of the boat, sewing, knitting, or saying her beads. During this last occupation her eyes never quitted 26o ATTRACTION. Alix. One would say it was to her she ad- dressed her prayers; and one day, when she saw my regard fixed upon Ahx, slie said to me : " It does me good to look at her; she must look like the Virgin Mary." Her little form, so graceful and delicate, had, however, one slight defect ; but this was hidden under the folds of her robe or of the scarf that she knew how to arrange with such grace. One shoulder was a trifle higher than the other. After having greeted my father, whom she already knew, she turned to us, hesitated a moment, and then, her two little hands ex- tended, and v/ith the most charming smile, she advanced, first to me and then to Suzanne, and embraced us both as if we had been old acquaintances. And from that moment we were good friends. It had been decided that the boat should not travel by night, notwithstanding the assur- ance of Carlo, who had a map of Attakapas. But in the Mississippi there was no danger; and as papa was pressed to reach our planta- tion, we traveled all that first night. The next day Alix — she required us to call her by that name — invited us to visit her in her room. Suzanne and I could not withhold a cry of surprise as we entered the little cham- ber. (Remember one thing: papa took noth- ing from home, not knowing even by what means we should return ; but the Carpentiers were going for good and taking everything.) Joseph had had the rough walls whitewashed. A cheap carpet — but high-priced in those times — of bright colors covered the floor; a very low French bed occupied one corner, and from a sort of dais escaped the folds of an embroidered bobbinet mosquito-bar. It was the first mosquito-bar of that kind we had ever seen. Alix explained that she had made it from the curtains of the same bed, and that both bed and curtains she had brought with her from England. New mystery ! Beside the bed a walnut dressing-table and mirror, opposite to it a washstand, at the bed's foot a priedieti, a center-table, thm^d^irs — these were all the furniture; but [an enumer- ation follows of all manner of pretty feminine belongings, in crystal, silver, gold, with a pic- ture of the crucifixion and another of the Vir- gin]. On the shelves were a rich box of colors, several books, and some portfolios of music. From a small peg hung a guitar. But Suzanne was not satisfied. Her gaze never left an object of unknown form envel- oped in green serge. Alix noticed, laughed, rose, and, lifting the covering, said : " This is my harp, Suzanne ; later I will play it for you^" The second ^ening and those that followed, papa, despite Carlo's representation and the magnificent moonlight, opposed the continu- ation of the journey by night; and it was not until the morning of the fifth day that we reached St. James. You can fancy the joy with which we were received at the plantation. We had but begun our voyage, and already my mother and sisters ran to us with extended arms as though they had not seen us for years. Needless to say, they were charmed with Alix ; and when after dinner we had to say a last adieu to the loved ones left behind, we boarded the flatboat and left the plantation amid huzzas,^ waving hand- kerchiefs, and kisses thrown from finger-tips. No one wept, but in saying good-bye to my father my mother asked : " Pierre, how are you going to return ? " " Dear wife, by the mercy of God all things are possible to the man with his pocket full of money." During the few days that we passed on the Mississippi each day was like the one before. We sat on the deck and watched the slow swinging of the long sweeps, or read, or em- broidered, or in the chamber of Alix listened to her harp or guitar; and at the end of an- other week we arrived at Plaquemine. 1 According to a common habit of the Southern slaves. (To be continued.) George W. Cable. ATTRACTION. WHY should I still love thee. When thou lov'st me not ? Why should I remember thee. When thou hast forgot ? dear. The fiery sun absorbs the dew, Though the dew wills it not; The pale stream glides to the ocean blue. Escaping never its lot. Shining sun and dew are one. Gliding stream and sea — Love or love me not, my love, I am one with thee ! Elyot Weld. THE VOYAGE TO MONTREAL. THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD, i BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD. VI. A RIVER COTE. HE four Huron Indians, cut off abruptly from the luxury of a Lower Town drinking-shop, sat in sulky readiness with their grasp upon the oars. Dollard was at the stern of the boat be- side Claire, whom he had wrapped in bear- skins, because at high noon the April air was chill upon the river. 1 Copyright, 1 888, by Mary Hart we Vol. XXXVI L — 36. Dollier de Casson had likewise taken to his canoe with his servant and pack of sacred utensils, and this small craft rested against the larger one to resist the current's dragging. Bollard's rope yet held to the shore. His im- patient eyes w^atched Quebec Heights for the appearance of Jacques and Louise. Water lapping the two boats brought them together with faint jars and grindings of the edges. Bollier de Casson, sitting thus facing the contraband bride, beheld her with increas- ing interest. 11 Catherwood. All rights reserved. 262 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. Jacques and Louise, carrying the bride's caskets and impedimenta of their own, finally appeared on Quebec's slopes, descending with deliberation to the landing. They had no breath to spend in chat, but Jacques realized wath voiceless approval that Louise carried manfully her portion of the freight. He rolled his keg into the boat, slipped the boxes aboard, and helped Louise to a bench in front of himself; then, untying the rope, he sprung in. The Hurons bent to their oars and the boat shot out into the river, Dollier de Casson's canoe-man following. Above water murmur and rhythmic splash of oars Dollard then called his vassal to account, addressing him over the Indians' swaying shoulders. " What have you been doing this hour by the sun, Jacques Goffinet ? " " Hour, m'sieur ? I have trotted myself into a sweat since we left the cathedral, and thrown away all my bounty the king pays a bachelor on his marriage, except this keg of salt meat and eleven crowns in money. That because of your hot haste, m'sieur. I lose an ox, a cow, a pair of fine hogs, and such chick- ens as never crowed on St. Bernard, and yet I have been an hour, have I ? — May the saints never let ruin and poverty tread on my heels so fast another hour while I live ! " Claire held out to Dollard, from her furs, a square watch having a mirror set in its back, saying : " You see, we waited scarcely twenty-five minutes." Dollard laughed, but called again to his vassal : " A cow, an ox, a load of swine, and a flock of chickens ! And having freighted the boat with these, where did you intend to carry the lady of St. Bernard, your seignior, your wife, yourself, and the rowers, my excellent Jacques ? Were we to be turned out as guests to the bishop?" "Saints forbid, m'sieur," Jacques called back sincerely. " The bishop and the abbess stood by while my wife brought madame's caskets from the convent, and they smiled so 't would make a man's teeth chatter. I am not skilled in the looks of holy folks, but I said to my wife as we came away, ' These Quebec Jesuits, they begrudge the light of day to Montreal.' So it would be cold cheer you got of bishop or abbess, m'sieur." Dollard and the fur-wrapped bride looked up at Quebec promontory which they were rounding, heights of sheer rock stretching up and holding the citadel in mid-heaven. The Indians steadily flung the boat upstream. Claire turned over in her mind that mute contempt which Mother Mary evidently felF^ for what she would call a girl's fickleness. Her ungracious leave-taking of the upright and duty-loving abbess was a pain to her. As to the bishop, she could not regret that his first 'benediction had been final. Resentment still heated her against both those strict devotees. She was yet young enough to expect perfect happiness, for the children of man live much before they learn to absorb the few flawless joys which owe their perfection to briefness. One such moment Claire had when her soldier leaned over her in silence. " We are goiiag farther from France. Are you homesick, dear ? " " No ; I am simply in a rage at the bishop of New France and the abbess of the Ursulines." " There they go behind the rock of Quebec, entirely separated from us. Have you regrets that you bore such a wedding for my sake ? " " Sieur des Ormeaux, I have but a single fault to find with you." " What is that ? " Dollard anxiously in- quired. "The edge of your hat is too narrow." " Why, it is the usual head-cover of a French officer of my rank ; but I will throw it into the river." "O monsieur! that would be worse than ever. If you despise me for seizing on you as Idid — " " O Claire ! " " What will you think when I own my de- pravity now ? The abbess might well smile. She doubtless knows I w411 say this to you. Are those yellow-feathered men watching us ? " " Not at all. They watch the St. Lawrence." " Louise's back is turned. But your servant?" " Can he do anything but stare at Louise? " " I forgot the priest." " His boat is many lengths behind." " Sieur des Ormeaux, this is a lovely voyage. But do you remember climbing the convent wall and dropping into the garden once where your cousin and I sat with our needlework?" " Once ? Say many times. I spent much of my life on that convent wall. You saw me once." " You fell on one knee, monsieur, and seized my work and kissed it. That silk mess; I often looked at it afterward. Men have very queer tastes, have they not ? It is a shocking thing when a girl has just flown the convent and her own family, but, O Sieur des Ormeaux! I want to kiss you ! " A sail-boat, perhaps venturing down from Three Rivers, cut past them in the distance. Other craft disappeared. No stealthy canoe shot from cover of rock or headland. As Claire half closed her eyes and leaned against THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD, 263 the rest provided for her, she thought she saw a heron rise from shallows at the water's edge, trailing its legs in flight. Catbirds and blue jays could be seen like darting specks, describ- ing lineless curves against the sky or shore. Sometimes Dollier de Casson's boat lagged, or again it shot close behind Bollard's. The first stop was made on a flat rocky island where there was a spring of clear water. Louise and Jacques spread out as a bridal repast such provisions as Dollard had hurriedly bought in Quebec, with dried eels and cured fish from the St. Bernard cellar. The pause was a brief one. And no tale of this island was dropped in Claire's ear, or of another island nearer the St. Lawrence's mouth : how two hundred Micmac Indians camped there for the night, beaching their canoes and hiding their wives and children in a recess of the rocks ; how the Iroquois surprised and blotted them all out. That dreaded war-cry, " Kobe — Kobe ! " might well be living in the air along the river yet. Before reentering the boat Claire went to the spring for a last cup of water, taking Louise with her. " And what did the bishop say ? " she seized this chance to inquire. " Mademoiselle — madame, he did nothing but look, as my husband said. We were all four surprised, the bishop, the abbess, my husband, and I." " Did the abbess accept my purse I bade you leave for the convent? " " Madame, I left it lying on the floor where she dropped it. She has no doubt picked it up and counted the coins out to charity by this. The whole marriage seems a miracle, with my mother helping the blessed saints." '• Were you, then, pleased, my child ? " " Mademoiselle, I was stupid with delight. For you will now be my mistress and have me to wait on you the rest of our lives. Had you no terrors at coming away with a strange man, mademoiselle? " " Strange man, tongue of pertness ! when the Sieur des Ormeaux has been my lover these many years." " Was he, indeed, one of those troublesome wooers who drove you out of France ? You said this morning you would never be yoked in marriage, and long before the sun goes down you are a bride ! Ah, madame, the air of this country must be favorable to women ! " Again the boats pushed up-river, following the afternoon westward. They had passed Cap Rouge, a cluster of cabins, the seignior's substantial stone hut forming one side of the fort-like palisades. The strip farms extended in long ribbons back from the shore. Their black stubble of stumps, mowed by ax and fire, crouched like the pitiful impotence of man at the flanks of unmeasured forest. Before nightfall the voyagers came near a low beach where sand and gravel insensibly changed to flat clearing, and a cote of three or four families huddled together. Wild red-legged children came shouting to the water's edge before Dollier de Casson's canoe was beached, and some women equally sylvan gathered shyly among the stumps to welcome him. As the priest stepped from his boat he waved a hand in farewell to the other voyagers, and Dollard stood up, lifting his hat. The sacrament of marriage, so easy of at- tainment in New France at that time, had evi- dently been dispensed with in the first hut this spiritual father entered. His man carried in his sacred luggage, and the temporary chapel was soon set up in a corner unoccupied. The children hovered near in delight, gazing at tall candles and gilt ornaments, for even in that age of poverty the pomps of the Roman Church were carried into settlers' cabins throughout New France. Dollier de Casson had for his confessional closet a canopy of black cloth stretched over two supports. The penitent crept under this merciful wing, and the priest, seated on a stool, could examine the soul as a modern photographer examines his camera ; ex- cept that he used ear instead of eye. The interior of a peasant censitaire's dwell- ing changes little from generation to generation. One may still see the crucifix over the principal bed, joints of cured meat hanging from rafters, and the artillery of the house resting there on hooks. A rough-built loom crowded inmates whom it clothed. And against the wall of the entrance side dangled a vial of holy water as a safeguard against lightning. Dolher de Casson stood up to admonish his little flock, gathered from all the huts of the cote, into silence before him. The men took off their rough caps and put them under their arms, standing in a disordered group to- gether. Though respectful and obedient, they did not crowd their spiritual father with such wild eagerness as the women, who, on any seat foun(^ or carried in, sat hungrily, hushing around their knees the nipped French dialect of their children. " What is this, Antonio Brunette ? " ex- claimed Father de Casson after he had cast his eyes among them. " Could you not wait my coming, when you well knew I purposed marrying you this time ? You intend to have the wedding and the christening together." " Father," expostulated the swart youth^ avoiding the priest to gaze sheepishly at his betrothed's cowering distress, " Pierre's daugh- ter is past sixteen, and we would have been PEACE BE WITH YOU, MASSAWIPPA. THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. 265 married if you had been here. You know the king lays a fine on any father who lets his daughter pass sixteen without binding her in marriage. And Pierre is a very poor man." " Therefore, to help Pierre evade his Maj- esty's fine, you must break the laws of Heaven, must you, my son ? Hearty penance shall ye both do before I minister to you the sacra- ment of marriage. My children, the evil one prowls constantly along the banks of this river, while your poor confessors can only reach you at intervals of months. Heed my admoni- tions. Where is Pierre's wife ? " Down went Pierre's face between his hands into his cap. " Dead," he articulated from its hollow. " Without absolution. And the little baby on her arm, it went with her unbaptized." " God have pity on you, my children," said Dollier de Casson. " I will say masses over her grave, and we will pray for the little un- blemished soul. How many children have you, Pierre ? " " Seventeen, father." " Twenty-six, he should say, father," a woman near the priest declared. " For the widow of Jean Ba'ti' Morin has nine." " And why should Pierre count as his own the flock of Jean Ba'ti' Morin's widow ? " " Because he is to marry her, father, when Antonio Brunette marries his oldest girl." " If I come not oftener," remarked the priest, " you will all be changed about and newly re- lated to each other so that I shall not know how to name ye. I will read the service for the dead over your first wife, Pierre, before I marry you to your second. It is indeed better to be dwelling in love than in discord. Have you had any disagreements ? " " No, father; b.ut Jean Ba'ti's oldest boy has taken to the woods and is off" among the Indi- ans, leaving his mother to farm alone with only six little lads to help her." "Another coureur de bois," said the priest in displeasure. " Therefore, father," opportunely put in Jean Ba'ti's widow, " I having no man at- all, and Pierre having no woman at all, we thought to wed." " Think now of your sins," said Father de Casson, " from oldest to youngest. After pen- ance and absolution and examination in the faith ye shall have mass." The solemn performance of these religious duties began and proceeded until dusk obfit- erated all faces in the dimly lighted cabin. Stump roots were piled up in the fireplace, and Pierre's daughter, between her prayers, put on the evening meal to cook. If a child tittered at going under the con- fessional tent, its mother gave it a rear prod Vol. XXXVIL— 37. with admonishing hand. In that humble dark- ness Father de Casson's ear received the whis- pers of all these plodding souls, and his tongue checked their evil and nourished their good. The cabin became a chapel full of kneeling figures telling beads. This portion of his duty finished, Dollier de Casson postponed the catechizing, and made Pierre take a lighted stick of pine and show him that ridge whereunder mother and baby lay. There was always danger of surprise by the Iroquois. The men and women who fol- lowed.in irregular procession through the vast dimness of northern twilight kept on their guard against moving stumps or any sudden uprising like the rush of quails from some cov- ert. In rapid tones the priest repeated the service for the dead ; then called his followers from their knees to return to the house to celebrate the weddings of Pierre and Pierre's daughter. After this rite, supper was served in Pierre's house, the other families dispersing to their own tables — cabbage-soup, fat pork, and coarse bread made from pounded grain ; for this cote was too poor to have a mill. These were special luxuries for Father de Casson, for the usual censitaire supper consisted of bread and eels. The missionary priest, accustomed with equal patience to fasting or eating, spread his hands above unsavory steam and blessed the meal. Silently, while he spoke, the door opened and a slim dark girl entered the house. VII. A HALF-BREED. She stood erect and silent against the closed door until Dollier de Casson, before he had taken his first mouthful, spoke to her. " Peace be with you, Massawippa." " Peace be also with you, father." Her voice was contralto without gutturals. " You come in good time, my daughter. It is long since I examined you in the faith and absolved you." " Think of my soul later, father; I come from the chief" " Where is the chief? " " Etienne Annahotaha sends for you," she replied grandly. " I am to show you the way." Dollier de Casson did not ask why Etienne Annahotaha sent for the priest instead of com- ing to the priest himself The Huron chief disdained his wife's relatives with savage frank- ness. " Very good, my daughter. In the morning, then, we will set out." " Annahotaha begs that you will come at once, father." " Hath he such urgent need of a priest ? " 266 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. " He leaves his present camp early to-mor- row, and he himself will tell you his urgent business." The girl's eyes moved slightingly over this huge French family, holding them unfit to hear many words concerning her father. " Very good, my daughter. As soon as I have finished my repast I shall be ready." Pierre muttered objections. His first wife's grave was blessed, and his second wife was now comfortably his, but he grudged gospel privi- leges to that interloper Annahotaha, who had married his sister and made a white squaw of her, poor unsettled woman, paddling her from the island of Orleans to the lower Ottawa and back until she died. All seats being occupied, Massawippa still stood by the entrance. Her uncle Pierre did point her to a place beside the table, but she shook her head. Father de Casson was placed by himself at the table end, Pierre's mob of children and step-children thronging below, the little ones standing wedged together, some with chins barely level with the board. Though scarcely more than fourteen years old, Massawippa looked well grown and tall. No civilized awkwardness of limb, or uncer- tainty of action when she moved, hampered her. Notwithstanding her cheek-bones were high and her mouth wide, she was full of vigor- ous young beauty. Her temples were round, and clasped as if by jet-black bird- wings in hair which divided its weight betwixt two braids and measured half the length of her body. Scarcely tolerant was the eye she kept on these French habitants her kinsfolks. She was princess ; they were merely inferior white stock from whom her mother had sprung. In personal appointments she was exquisite compared with the French women of the cabin. Her rich and glowing cheeks, her small dark ears and throat and hands, had reached a state of polish through unusual care. Her raiment appeared to be culled from the best fashions of both races. She w«re the soft Indian moc- casin, stitched with feather- work, and the wool- en French stocking. All beaver skins in New France nominally belonged to the govern- ment; but this half-breed girl wore a pliant slim gown, chestnut-colored and silky, of beaver skin, reaching nearly to her ankles. It was girdled around the waist and collared around the top by bands of white wampum glittering like scales. A small light blanket of wool dyed a very dull red was twisted around her and hung over one arm. A bud of a woman though still a child, full of the gentle dignity of the Hurons, who of all the great tribes along the St. Lawrence had lent themselves most kindly to Christian teaching, and undulled by her French peas- ant blood, Massawippa was comforting to eyes wearied by oily dark faces. -—xj D oilier de Casson, gentleman and soldier before he became priest, always treated her with the deference she was inclined to exact as due her station. Most Canadian half-breeds were the children of French fathers who had turned coureurs de bois and of Indian women briefly espoused by them. But the Huron chief had wedded Massawippa's mother by priest and Latin service. The inmates of Pierre's house re- garded this gijl as a misfortune that held them in awe. Her patent of nobility was dirt to them, yet by virtue of it she trod on air above their heads ; and she was always so strangely clean and strangely handsome, this high young dame of the woods. Pierre's new wife, the corners of her mouth settling, regarded Massawippa with disfavor. The families in that cote knew well at whose door Jean Ba'ti's widow laid the defection of her son. One of Pierre's little boys, creeping sidewise towards Massawippa, leaned against the door and looked up, courting her smile. He was very dirty, his cheeks new sodden with pork- faf being the most acceptable points of his surface. She did not encourage his advances, but met his look sedately. "Thou know'st not what I know, Massa- wippa," said he. " Thou know'st not who 's married." She remained silent, pride magnifying the natural indifference of her time of life to such news. " The father Pierre is married. Dost guess he married our Angele ? " tempted the little boy, whose ideas of the extent of intermar- riage surpassed even the generous views of his elders in the cote. " No ! Antonio Bru- nette married our Angele. Four people are married. It made me laugh. The widow of Jean Ba'ti' Morin, she wedded Father Pierre, and you must tell La Mouche. Are you also married to La Mouche, Massawippa ? " Her aquiline face blazed with instant wrath, and Pierre's Httle boy fell back from her as if scorched. Her hiss followed him. " I do not myself speak to La Mouche ! " La Mouche's mother was naturally the most interested witness of this falcon-like stoop of Massawippa's, and as a mother she experienced deeper sense of injury. VIII. THE HURON. A LIGHT rain was blistering the river and thickening an already dark landscape when THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 267 Dollier de Casson, followed by his man carry- ing what might be called his religious tool- chest, crossed the clearing with Massawippa. The child walked before them, her blanket drawn well up over her head and her mocca- sins taking no print afterward visible from any soft earth they trod. The laden and much- enduring servant stumbled across roots, but labored on through sleek and treacherous wet spots with the zeal of a missionary servant. Dollier de Casson gave him breathing peri- ods by carrying the chapel himself. Thus had these two men helped each other in winter, when the earth was banked in white, the river a glittering solid, and one's breath came to him fluid ice and went from him an eruption of steam, as they toiled to parish or distant fort on snow-shoes. Thus did Jesuit and Sulpitian priests keep their religion alive on the St. Law- rence. Within the first pine covert three Hurons were waiting, evidently Massawippa's escort. She now walked beside Dollier de Casson and they stalked ahead, threading a silent way through the darkness. Spruce and white birch were all the trees that stood Qut distinctly to the senses, others massing anonymously in the void of night and their spring nakedness. The evergreen with prickling fingers brushed the passers' faces; while the white birches in flecked shrouds crowded rank on rank like many lofty ghosts diverse of girth, and by their whiteness threw a gleam upon the eyeball. Following the head Huron, Dolher de Cas- son's company trod straight over soft logs where the foot sunk in half-rotten moss, and over that rustling, elastic cushion of dead leaves, histories of uncounted summers which padded the floor .of the forests. Through roof- ing limbs the rain found it less easy to pelt them. They wound about rocks and climbed ascents, until Annahotaha's camp-fire suddenly blinked beneath them and they could stand overlooking it. He had pitched his bark tent in a small amphitheater sloping down to a tributary of the St. Lawrence. The camp-fire, hissing as slant lines of the shower struck it, threw light over the little river's stung surface, on low shrubs and rocks, on the oblong lodge,^ and the figures of some three dozen Indians squat- ting blanketed beside it, or walking about throwing long shadows over the brightened area. Etienne Annahotaha sat just within the 1 On a small scale the typical Iroquois-Huron dwell- ing. The tribal lodges, made to hold many fires and many families, were fifty or more yards in length by twelve or fifteen in width, framed of sapling poles closely covered with sheets of bark. shelter of his lodge, and here he received the priest, standing almost as tall as Dollier de Casson, who bent his head to avoid the tent. This shelter was indeed altogether for Mas- sawippa; the chief preferred lying on the ground with his braves ; but she was child of a mother long used to roofs, and was, besides, a being whom he would set up and guard as a sacred image. There was no woman in the camp. When Dollier de Casson and Annahotaha sat silently down together, Massawippa crept up behind her father and rested her cheek against his back. He allowed this mute caress and gazed with stern gravity at the fire. His soul was in labor, and the priest good- humoredly waited until it should bring forth its care. No religious instruction could be im- parted to the camp while Annahotaha held his speech unspoken. Rain hissed softly through listening trees, paused to let damp boughs drip, and renewed itself with a rush. Evident vapor arose from the Indians beside the fire. " The father's boat was seen upon the river," began Annahotaha. " I have sent for the father ' to tell him the thoughts which come up in my breast and give me no peace. I am a tree of rough bark, but I bear a flower branch. I go to the burning and my branch of flowers will not be cut off from me. I am an old bear, but how shall I make the Iroquois feel my claws if my cub be beside me ? The lodge of her mother's people is not fit to hold her. Con- tinually her mother comes to me in dreams saying, ' What have you done with the child ? ' Shall I hang my branch of flowers in the lodges of my people ? Behold the remnant of the Hurons ! " He leaped to his feet with ener- getic passion, and flung his pointed finger at the steaming braves by the fire. They gave an instant's attention to his voice, and went on toasting themselves as before. " We are trodden underfoot like leaves. The French, our white brothers, promiise us protection, and our feeble ones are dragged to the stake and scalped before their eyes. We perish from the earth. Soon not a Huron will make the smoke of his lodge go up beside the great river. But before these Iroquois utterly tread our bones under the turf they shall feel the rage of An- nahotaha. The last Hurons shall heap them up in destruction ! " He sat down and rested his savage face on his fists. Massawippa resumed her attitude of satisfied tenderness; and shade by shade his wrath lifted until the father and not the chief again looked through the red of his mask-like face. " If Annahotaha is leading a war party against the Iroquois," began Dollier de Cas- son— 268 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. " Speak not of that. The old bear knows his own track ; but no way for the tender feet of his cub." — "he will pass through Montreal," con- tinued the priest. " Now, if Annahotalm wishes to keep his gift of Heaven from con- taminations of the world, why should he not lay her on the sacred altar ? Place her with the sisters of St. Joseph, those good nuns of the Hotel Dieu." The chief, expectant and acquiescent, kept yet a wily side-glance on his cassocked guide. Honest Dollier de Casson brought his fist with a gentle spat upon his palm as he proceeded. " No Indian woman ever hath joined the pious labors of our good nuns. You Hurons clamor without ceasing for protection to white brothers who can scarcely keep their own scalps on their heads, but the burdens and self-denials of our holy religion ye shirk. I speak truth to the chief of the Hurons. You even leave your farms and civilized life on the island of Or- leans, and take to the woods." " We are dragged scalped from our farms," interjected Annahotaha's guttural voice. " My son, the power of Heaven is over all. We gasp and bleed together ; but, see you, we still live. Miracles are continually worked for us. They confound even the dark hearts of the Iroquois." Annahotaha smiled, perhaps with some re- flection of Quebec distrust in Montreal mira- cles. " Hast thou not heard," insisted Father de Casson with that severe credulity which af- flicted the best men of the time, " about Jean Saint-Pere — slain by the Iroquois and be- headed, and his head carried off — speaking to them in warnings and upbraidings ? Yea, the scalped skull ceased not threatening them with the vengeance of Heaven, in plain, well- spoken Iroquois." Annahotaha sounded some guttural which the priest could not receive as assent. " Blessed is a country, my son, when such notable miracles are done in it. For, see you, there was Father le Maitre, who had his head likewise cut off by these children of evil, but without making the stain of blood on his hand- kerchief which received it. And there were his features stamped on the cloth so that any one might behold them. This miracle of Father le Maitre hath scarcely ceased to ring in Montreal, for it is a late thing. I counsel the chief of the Hurons to give his child to the Church. The saints will then be around her in life, and in death they will gather her to themselves." Annahotaha sat as if turning over in his mind this proposal, which he had secretly foreseen and wished. " The father has spoken," he finally pro- nounced; and silence closed thisconference, as silence had preceded it. ^ Afterward Dollier. de Casson set up his chapel beside a sheltering rock and prepared to shrive the Huron camp, beginning with Massawippa. Her he confessed apart, in the inclosure of the lodge, probing as many of her nature's youthful and tortuous avenues as the wisdom of man could penetrate. She raised no objection to that plan of life her father and her confessor both proposed for her; but the priest could not afterward distinctly recall that she accepted ij;. When Father* de Casson called the congre- gation of Indians to approach his temporary chapel, one of the restless braves who had sauntered from sputtering fire to dripping tree skulked crouching in the shadow of Massa- wippa's tent. He had a reason for avoiding the priest as well as one for seeking her. When the others were taken up with their devotions he crept to the tent-flap, and firelight shone broadly on his dark side-countenance, separating him in race from the Hurons. He was a Frenchman. But his stifl" black hair was close shorn except one bristling tuft, his oily skin had been touched with paint, and he wore the full war-dress of his foster tribe. " Massawippa," whispered this proselyte, raising the lodge-flap, " I have something here for you." The girl was telling her beads with a soft mutter in the little penances her priest had imposed upon her. He could see but her blurred figure in her dim shrine. " Massawippa ! La Mouche brings you a baked fish," he whispered in the provincial French-. Her undisturbed voice continued its mut- tered orisons. " Massawippa ! " repeated the youth, speak- ing this time in Huron, his tone entreating piteously. " La Mouche brings you a baked fish. It comes but now from the fire." Her voice ceased with an indrawing of the breath, and she hissed at La Mouche. " Return it then to the fire and thyself with it, thou French.log ! " she uttered in a scream- ing whisper in Huron, and hissed at him again as her humble lover dropped the lodge-flap. The candles shone mellowly from the shel- tered altar upon kneeling Indians, but La Mouche slunk oft' into the darkness. IX. THE LADY OF ST. BERNARD. Five evenings later a boat was beached on one of the islands above Montreal lying near the south shore of the St. Lawrence. While THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. 269 this island presented rocky points, it had fer- tile slopes basking in the glow which followed a blue and vaporous April day, and trees in that state of gray greenness which shoots into leaf at the first hot shining. The principal object on the island was a stone house standing inclosed by strong pali- sades above the ascent from the beach. It appeared to be built against a mass of perpen- dicular rock that towered over it on the west side. This was, in fact, the strongest seigniorial mansion west of the Richelieu. There was, in addition, a small stone mill for grinding grain, apart from it on the brink of the river. Northward, the St. Lawrence spread towards the horizon in that distension of its waters called Lake St. Louis. Out of the palisade door came a censitaire and his wife, who, having hurried to St. Ber- nard for protection at an alarm of Indians, staid to guard the seigniory house during Jacques Goftinet's absence with Dollard. " This is St. Bernard," said Dollard, leading Claire up the slope. " Sometimes fog-covered, sometimes wind-swept, green as only islands can be, and stone-girdled as the St. Lawrence islands are. A cluster up-river belongs to the seigniory, but this is your fortress." " And yours," she added. " It will seem very rude to you." " After my life of convent luxury, monsieur ? " " After the old civilization of France. But I believe this can be made quite comfortable." " It looks delicious and grim," said the bride. " Tragic things might happen here if there be a tragic side to life, which I cannot now be- lieve. Yet a few months ago I said there was no happiness ! " Dollard turned his uneasy glance from her to the seigniory house. "There is scarcely such another private stronghold in the province." " Did you build it ? " " Not I. Poor Dollard brought little here but his sword. One of my superior officers abandoned it in my favor, and took a less ex- posed seigniory near the Richelieu. I wish the inside appointments better befitted you. It was a grand chateau to me until I now compare it with its chatelaine." " Never mind, monsieur. When you demand my fortune from France, you can make your chateau as grand as you desire. I hope you will get some good of my fortune, for I never have done so. Seriously, monsieur, if no house were here, and there were only that great rock to shelter us, I should feel myself a queen if you brought me to it, so great is my lot." " You can say this to poor Adam Dollard, an obscure soldier of the province ? " " In these few days," replied the girl, laugh- ing, and she threw the light of her topaz eyes half towards him, " the way they call your name in this new country has become to me like a title." " You shall have more than a title," burst out Dollard. " Heaven helping me, you shall yet have a name that will not die ! " They passed through the gate of the palisade, Jacques and Louise following with the loads of the expedition. To insure its safety the boat was afterward dragged within the palisade. The censitaire in charge, with his wife at his shoulder, stood grinning at Jacques's approach, " Thou got'st thyself a wife, he, my pretty Jacques ? " " That did I, bonhomme Papillon. And a good wife, and a stout wife, and a handsome. Thou 'It want to go to Quebec market thyself when the Indians carry off Joan." " Let me see him go to the Quebec market! " cried Joan, shaking her knuckled fist under his ear. " It would trouble thee little to lose sight of him, Joan. But his coming back with such freight ■— it is that would fire thee hotter than Iroquois torches. Alas, my children," Jacques said, letting down his load inside the gate, " I bring much, but I leave much behind. If I am to hold this seigniory while my comman- dant is away, and feed ye both and my new wife, to say naught of Mademoiselle de Gran- ville and our great lady, I need the cattle and swine and fowls which our king gave me for dower and my seignior made me throw over my shoulder." " But I thought," said Louise, in dismay, " that thou had'st such stores of vegetables and other provisions here," " Have no fear, my spouse.. Thou shalt see how this garrison is provisioned. But what prudent man can drop without a sigh the moi- ety of his wife's fortune ? Here are Papillon and Joan, who hold the next island under our seignior. And here, timid Joan, is thy soldierly new neighbor Louise Goffinet, who squealed not in the dangers of the river." " Wert thou afraid ? " Joan asked Louise, kindly. " I was until I saw Madame des Ormeaux was not. And the Indians have a wonderful skill." "Did the commandant also marry her at the wife market ? " pressed Joan, walking by Louise's side behind the men. " She is surely the fairest woman in New France. I could have crawled before her when she gave me a smile." " My mother nursed her," said Louise with pride. " Did she so ! And is our lady some great dame from the king's court, who heard of the commandant at Montreal ? " 270 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. " Thou hast woman wit. It is exactly as thou sayest," bragged Jacques, turning towards the mummied face of Papillon's simple wife. " She is cousin to our holy bishop himself; and even that great man she left grinning and bit- ing his nails, for he and the abbess they would make a nun of her. Thou dost not know the mightiness of her family. My Louise can charm thee with all that. But this lady was a princess in France, and voyaged here by the king's ship, being vilely sickened and tossed about; and all for my commandant. Is not the Sieur des Or- meaux known in France ? " Jacques snapped his fingers high in air. The lowest floor of the seigniory house was the rock on which it was based. Here and within the stockade were such domestic animals as be- longed to the island. A sheep rubbed against Louise, passing out as she passed in. She looked around the darkened strong walls, unpierced by even a loophole, at the stores of provender for dumb and human inmates. Jacques had underestimated his wealth in col- lected food. His magazine seemed still over- flowing when it was spring and seedtime, and the dearth of winter nearly past. A stone staircase twisted itself in giving as- cent to the next floor. Here were sleeping-cells for the seignior's servants, and a huge kitchen having pillars of cemented rock across its center, and a fireplace like a cave. Lancelike windows gave it light, and in the walls were loopholes which had been stopped with stone to keep out the Canadian winter. A broader stairway of tough and well-dried wood in one corner led up to the seignior's apartment above, which was divided into sev- eral rooms. The largest one, the saloon of the mansion, had also its cavern fireplace where pieces of wood were smoldering. A brass can- delabrum stood on the mantel. Rugs of fawn skin beautifully spotted and of bear skin relieved the dark unpolished floor. The walls of all the rooms were finished with a coarse plaster glit- tering with river sand. Some slender-legged chairs, a high-backed cushioned bench, a couch covered by moth-eaten tapestry, and a round black table furnished this drawing-room. Somx cast-off pieces of armor hung over the mantel, and an embroidery frame stood at one side of the hearth. There was but one window, and it swung outward on hinges, the sash being fitted with small square panes. When Claire appeared from the private chamber where she had been taken to refresh herself with Louise to attend on her, Dollard came down the room, took her by the hands, and led her to this window. He pushed the sash open quite out of their way, and thus set the landscape in a deep frame of stone wall. The two young lovers still [met each other with shyness and reserve. From the hour of his impetuous marriage Dollard had watched his wife with passionate solicitude. But that day when his boat approached Montreal he had it brought to the dock and went ashore by himself, spending what Claire considered the best hours of the afternoon at the fort and on the streets, coming back flushed and re- pressed. She felt the energetic pulses still beating in his face as he touched her forehead. " You see now the way we came," said Dollard, indicating the St. Lawrence sweeping towards the east. " A lovely way it was," said Claire. The river's breath came to them fresh and clean, leaving a touch of dampness on the skin. Already the wooded south shore was clothing itself in purple, but northward the expanse of water still held to what it had received from sunset. " That was very different from the voy- age on shipboard." " Are you not tired ? " "I was tired only once — at Montreal,'* hinted Claire, gazing at the extremity of the island. " Again I beg you to pardon that. I had been nearly ten days away from my command and there were serious matters to attend to. Put it out of your mind and let us be very happy this evening." " And every following evening. That goes, without saying." "I must report at my fortress at daybreak to-morrow." " You should have left my caskets at Mon- treal, monsieur," exclaimed Claire. " I could do without them here one night." " You want to turn your back on poor St. Bernard immediately ? " " Monsieur, you do not mean to separate yourself from me ?" she inquired lightly, keep- ing control of her trembling voice. " I brought you here to take possession of my land," said Dollard. " I have taken possession. The keys of the house of course I do not want. They shall in all courtesy be left with the resident chate- laine, your sister. Monsieur, where is your sis- ter ? " DoUard glanced over his shoulder at the em- broidery frame. " She has been here or is coming. I have hardly prepared you for poor Renee. She lives in delusions of her own, and pays Httle regard to the courtesies of the outside world. My ex- cellent Jacques waits on her as on a child." " Doubtless I thought too little about her," Claire said, visibly shrinking. " She may ob- ject to me." THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 271 "She will not even see you unless I put you before her eyes." " What ails your sister, monsieur? Is she a religious devotee ? " " Not strictly that. She is a nurser of delu- sions. I cannot remember when she was other- wise, though we have lived httle together, for poor Renee is but my half-sister. Her father was a De Granville. You will not feel afraid of her when you have seen her; she is not unkind. She has her own chambers at the rock side of the house and lives there weeks together. I see her embroidery frame is set out, and that means we may expect her presence." While he was speaking. Mademoiselle de Granville had opened a door at the end of the room. Claire, with well-opened eyes, pressed back- ward against her husband, so moldered-look- ing a creature was this lady gliding on silent feet — not unlike some specter of the Des Or- meaux who had followed their last chevalier under the New World's glaring skies. She wore a brocaded gown, the remnant of a court cos- tume of some former reign, and her face was covered with a black silk mask. Though masks were then in common use, the eyes which looked through this one were like the eyes of a sleep-walker. She sat down by the embroidery frame as if alone in the room, but instead of a web of needlework she began to fasten in the frame one end of a priest's stole much in need of mending. Dollard led his wife to this silent figure. " My dear Renee," he said, taking hold of the stole and thereby establishing a nerve of communication, "let me present my beauti- ful wife." The figure looked up, unsurprised but attent- ive. " She was Mademoiselle Laval-Montmo- rency." With deference the figure rose off its slim- legged chair and made a deep courtesy, Claire acknowledging it with one equally deep. " Mademoiselle," petitioned the bride, " I hope my sudden coming causes you no trouble, though we return to the fort soon." The mask gazed at her but said nothing. " Are you never lonely here upon this isl- and ? " pursued Claire. The mask's steady gaze made her shiver. " She does not talk," Dollard explained. He drew his wife away from the silent woman and suggested, " Let us walk up and down until some supper is served, to get rid of the boat's cramping." Mademoiselle de Granville sat down and continued to arrange her darning. Whenever they were quite at the room's end Claire drew a free breath, but always in pass- ing the masked presence she shrunk bodily against Dollard, for the room was narrow. He, with tense nerves and far-looking eyes, failed to notice this. The eccentricities of any man's female relatives appeal to his blindest side. Custom has used him to them, and his ov/n blood speaks their apology. The river air blew into the open window. There were no sounds except the footsteps of Dollard and Claire, and a stirring of the house- hold below which was hint of sound only, so thick were the walls and floors. In due time Jacques came up, bearing the supper. His seignior when at St. Bernard ate in the kitchen. But this was a descent unbefit- ting a grand bride. While Jacques was pre- paring the round table, Claire stole another look towards the mask which must now be re- moved. But by some sudden and noiseless process known to recluse women Mademoi- selle de Granville had already taken herself and her embroidery frame out of the room. X. THE SEIGNIORY KITCHEN. About i o'clock of the night Jacques rose from his sleeping-cell, as he was in the habit of doing, to put more wood on the kitchen fire. The window slits let in some moonlight of a bluish quality, but the larger part of this wide space lay in shadow until Jacques sent over it the ruddiness of a revived fire. Out of uncer- tainty came the doors of the sleeping-cells, the rafters and dried herbs which hung from them, heavy table and benches and stools, cooking- vessels, guns, bags of stored grain, and the fig- ures of the four Hurons, two at each side of the hearth, stretched out in their blankets wdth their heels to the fire — and Jacques himself, disordered from sleep and imperfectly thrust into lower garments. He lingered stupidly looking at the magician fire while it rose and crackled and cast long obfique shadows with the cemented posts. Dollard descended the stairway from his apartment, pressing down his sword-hilt to keep the scabbard from clanking on each step. He was entirely dressed in his uniform. As he approached the fire and Jacques turned towards him, his face looked bloodless, his fea- tures standing high, the forehead well reared back. " I am glad you are awake," he said to Jacques, half aloud. " Are the others asleep ? " indicating those cells occupied by Louise and the Papillon family. There was no questioning the deep slumber which inclosed his Indians. "Yes, m'sieur." " Have you packed the provisions I directed you to pack ? " 272 THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. " Yes, m'sieur. M'sieur, you do not leave at this hour ? " "At once." " But, m'sieur, the Lachine is hard enough to run in daytime." " There is broad moonHght. Are you sure you understand everything ? " " M'sieur, I hope I do. Have you told madame ? " Doilard wheeled and flung his clinched hands above his head as men do on receiving gunshot wounds. " O saints ! I cannot tell her ! I am a wretch, Jacques. She has been happy; I have not caused her a moment's suffering. Let her sleep till morning. Tell her then merely that I have gone to my fortress; that I would not expose her to the dangers of the route by night. It will soon be over now. Sometime she can forgive this cruelty if a deed goes after it to make her proud. She has proud blood, my boy ; she loves honor. Oh, what a raving madman I was to marry her, my be- loved ! I thought it could do her no harm — that it could not shake my purpose ! O my Claire ! O my poor New France ! Torn this way, I deserve shame with death — no martyr's crown — no touch of glory to lighten my darkness for ever and ever ! " " M'sieur," whimpered Jacques, crouching and wiping nose and eyes with his palms, " don't say that! My little master, my pretty, my dear boy ! These women have the trick of tripping a man up when he sets his foot to any enterprise." " Hear me," said DoUard, grasping him on each side of the collar. " She is the last of the Des Ormeaux to you. Serve her faithfully as you serve the queen of heaven. If she wants to go back to France, go with her. Before this I bequeathed you St. Bernard. Now I am leaving you a priceless charge. Your wife shall obey and follow her to the ends of the earth. To-day I altered my will in Montreal and gave her my last coin, gave her my seigniory, I gave her j^?// Do you refuse to obey my last commands? Do you disallow my rights in you ? " Jacques's puckered face unflinchingly turned upward and met the stare of his master. " M'sieur, I will follow my lady's whims and do your commands to the hour of my death." Doilard, like a mastiff, shook him. " Is there any treachery in you, Jacques Gofiinet, free follower of the house of Des Or- meaux ? If there is, out with it now, or my dead eyes will pry through you hereafter." " M'sieur," answered Jacques, lifting his hand and making the sign of the cross, " I am true man to my core. I do love to pile good stuff L together and call land mine, but thou knowest I love a bit of cloth from one of thy old gar- ments better than all the seigniories in New France." Doilard let go Jacques's collar and extend- ed his arms around the stumpy man's neck. " My good old Jacques ! My good old Jacques ! " ' . " How proud I have always been of thee! " choked Jacques. " I have told her to depend on you, Jacques. The will I brought home in my breast and placed among her caskets. She will provide for Louise and you, and slie will provide for poor Renee, also. Kick the Indians and wake them up. There is not another moment to spare." The Indians were roused, and stood up taci- turn and ready for action, drawing their blank- ets around themselves. These Hurons, vagrants from Annahotaha's tribe, were hangers-on about the fortress at Montreal. Jacques gave them each a careful dram, and lighted at the fire a dipped candle. With this feeble light he penetrated the darkness of the cellar floor, leading the party down its tortuous stair- case. Doilard, who had stood with his hand on the door-latch, was the last to leave the upper room. His questions followed Jacques around the turns of the stairs. " You are well provisioned, Jacques ? " " Yes, m'sieur." " At daybreak you will remember to have Papillon help you bring in an abundant sup- ply of water ? " "Yes, m'sieur," " Bar the doors when you see any one ap- proaching and keep watch on all sides every day." " Yes, m'sieur." Jacques jammed. his candle-end into a crack of the rock floor, undid the fastenings, and with a jerk let the moonlight in on their semi-dark- ness. They went out to the palisade gate, the Indians dragged the boat carefully to its launching, and Jacques stored in it Dollard's provisions. " Good-bye, my man," said Doilard. " M'sieur," said Jacques, " I have always obeyed you. There is but one thing in my heart against you, and I will cleanse myself of that now." " Quickly, then." The young man had one foot in the boat. " It is the same old hard spot. Thou wouldst rule me out of this expedition. A man that loves thee as I love thee ! " "Jacques, if I had reasons before on Renee's account, what reasons have I not now ? " THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD, 273 " Bless thee, my master Adam Daulac ! " " Bless thee, my Jacques ! " The boat shot off, and Jacques went m and fastened the gate and the door. XI. MADEMOISELLE DE GRANVILLE'S BROTHER. Soon after i o'clock Claire awoke and sat upright in her dim room. Her alarm at the absence of Dollard was swallowed instantly by greater alarm at the presence of some one else. This small chamber, like the saloon, was lighted by one square window, and male housekeeping at St. Bernard, combined with the quality of glass manufactured for colonial use at that date, veiled generous moonlight which would have thrown up sharply every object in the severe place. Claire's garments, folded and laid upon a stool, were motionless to her expanding eyes ; so were her boxes where Louise had placed them. All the luggage which a young lady of rank then carried with her to the ends of the earth could be lifted upstairs in the arms of a stout maid. Unstirring was the small black velvet cap which Claire had chosen from her belongings to wear during the voyage. It was stuck against the wall like a dim blot of ink. But nothing else visible seemed quite so mo- tionless and unstirring as the figure by the bed. It was Mademoiselle de Granville. Ex- cept that her personality was oppressive, she seemed a lifeless lump without breath or sight, until Claire's tenser pupils adapted to duski- ness found eyes in the mask, eyes stiffly gazing. The bride's voice sunk in her throat, but she forced it to husky action. " What do you want ? " Automatically, holding its elbows to its sides, the figure hfted one forearm and pointed to Claire's garments. " Do you require me to put them on ? " It continued to point. " Be so kind as to withdraw, then, and I will put them on." It continued to point, without change of at- titude or sound of human breath. The girl crept out of her couch at that cor- ner farthest from the figure, rolled up and pinned her white curls as best she could, and assimilated the garments from the stool, keep- ing her eye braced repellantly against the automaton pointing at her. She finished by drawing her mantle over her dress and the vel- vet cap over her hair. " Now I am ready, if you are determined I shall go somewhere with you." The figure turned itself about and opened the door into the saloon. Claire followed, keeping far behind those, silent feet, and thus Vol. XXXVII.— 38. they walked through that grim room over which touches of beauty had never been thrown by a woman's keeping. Claire followed into another chamber and was shut in darkness. It was the rock side of the house, without moonlighted windows. Mademoiselle de Granville had left her, and she stood confused, forgetting which way she should turn to the door-latch of release. The absence of Dollard now rushed back over her, and helped the dark to heap her with terrors. The sanest people have felt sparks of madness flash across the brain. One such flash created for her a trap in the floor to swallow her to the depths of the island. Directly her surroundings were lighted by a door opening to an inner room. A priest stood there in black cassock, his face smooth and dark, his eyes dark and attentive. He was not tonsured, but with hair clustering high upon his head he looked like Dollard grown to sudden middle age, his fire burnt to ashes, his shoulders bowed by penances, his soul dried as a fern might be dried betwixt the wooden lids of his breviary. Behind him stood an altar, two tall candles burning upon it, and above the altar hung a crucifix. She took note of nothing else in the room. " Pardon me, father; I am lost in the house. Mademoiselle de Granville brought me here and has left me." "Yes." His voice had depth and volume, and was like Dollard's voice grown older. " She brought you at my request." " At your request, father ? Where is Made- moiselle de Granville ? " " In that closet," he replied, showing a door at the corner of his chapel room. " My poor lifeless sister is at her devotions." " I see my way now. With your permission I will go back," said Claire. This unwholesome priest like a demon presentation of Dollard made her shudder. " Stop, Mademoiselle Laval." " I am Madame des Ormeaux ; as you should know, being inmate of this house and evidently my husband's brother." " Mademoiselle de Granville has but one brother," said the priest. " The Sieur des Ormeaux is her brother." " There is no Sieur des Ormeaux." He smiled in making the assertion, his lips parting indulgently. " I mean Dollard, commandant of the fort of Montreal." " There is no Dollard, commandant of the fort of Montreal. I am the Abbe de Gran- ville." Claire silently observed him, gathering her convictions. The priest leaned towards her, rub- bing his hands. 2 74 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. " This misguided soldier, sometimes called Dollard, he is but a bad dream of mine, my poor child. So keen is your beauty that it still pierces the recollection. In my last dream my conscience tells me I worked some harm to you. Return to your family, mademoiselle, and for- give me. I have become myself again, and these holy tokens recall me to my duty and my vows." " I know who you are," said Claire. " You are Mademoiselle de Granville." " I am the Abbe de Granville. Look at me." He took a candle from the altar and held it near his face. So masculine was the counte- nance that it staggered conviction. The razor had left sleekness there. The tone of flesh was man-like. " I am Dollard," he said. " I am a priest. There can be, of course, no marriage between us. I sent for you to ask your pardon and to send you from St. Bernard." This gross and stupid cruelty had on Claire merely the effect of steeping her in color. Her face and throat blushed. " You are Mademoiselle de Granville," she repeated. The priest, as if weary of enforcing his ex- planations, waved his fingers with a gesture of dismissal in Bollard's own manner. " I am the Abbe de Granville. But we will discuss the subject no further. I must be at my prayers. A trustworthy witness shall con- firm what I have told you." He opened the closet door, carrying the can- dle with him. His tread had body and sound, though his feet were shod in sandals. Claire moved guardedly after him. He crossed the closet and entered a long passage so narrow that two persons could scarcely walk abreast in it, nor did she covet the privilege of stepping it thus with her conductor. As she crossed the closet her rapid eye searched it for the chrysalis of Mademoiselle de Granville. The candle was already in the passage beyond, but distinct enough lay that brocaded figure prostrate on the floor beneath a crucifix, but the mask faced Claire. She moved on behind Abbe de Granville as with masculine tread of foot he strode the length of the passage and opened a door lead- ing out on the stairway. " Here, Jacques," he called in his mellow tones, " tell this demoiselle about me ; and tell her the truth, or it shall be the worse for you." Claire, standing on the upper stairs, could see Jacques with his back to the fire and his mouth opened in consternation at this un- priestly threat. His candle was yet smoking, so lately had it been divorced from its flame. Abbe de Granville closed the passage door and bolted it. 1 The legend of Mademoiselle de Granville dates from the year 1 698. It seemed but a slight anachron- She went down into the kitchen^and Jacques brought her a seat, placed her before the mid- dle hearth, and stationed himself at the corner in an attitude of entire dejection. The other inmates rested in unbroken sleep. The cell occupied by Papillon and his wife resounded with a low guttural duet. " Where is Sieur des. Ormeaux, Jacques ? " inquired the lady of St. Bernard. Writhing betwixt two dilemmas, Bollard's follower cunningly seized upon the less painful one, and nodded up the stairway. " He 's been out again, has he ? " " Bo you mean the priest ? " " Monsieur the abbe." " Jacques, who is he ? " " The Abbe de Granville," replied Jacques with a shrug, first of one shoulder and then the other, as if the sides of his person took turns in rejecting this statement. " And he sends you to me for the truth, madame. Is not that the craziest part of the play when he knows what I will tell you ? There is no lim- iting a woman, madame, when she takes to whims." " Then it really was Mademoiselle de Gran- ville playing priest ? " "Madame, she befools me sometimes until I know not whether to think her man or woman. So secret is this half-sister of my master's, and so jealous of her pretty abbe, it unsettles a plain soldier. A fine big robust priest he is, and you would take her for a ghost in petticoats. It goes against my conscience, so that I have come nigh to mention it in confession, all this mumming and male-attiring, and even calling for hot shaving-water ! Yet she seems an ex- cellent devoted soul when no one crosses her, and for days at a time will be Mademoiselle de Granville, as gentle and timid as a sheep. Besides, women take pleasure in putting on raiment of different kinds, and when you come to look at a priest's cassock, it is not so far from being a petticoat that I need to raise a scandal against St. Bernard and my commandant's sister on account of it. M 'sieur he minds none of her pranks, and she hath had her humor since I was set to keep guard over her ; and if it be a mad humor, it harms no one but her- self" 1 Claire's glance rested on the coarse floor where many nailed shoes had left their prints in the grain. " Such a monomaniac cannot be a pleasant housemate." " No, madame ; the poor lady is not charm- ing. And she will have the biggest of candles for her altar. But then she must amuse her- self. I was, indeed, speechless when I saw her ism to place this singular though unimportant figure in the year 1660. AD ASTRA. 275 turn you out on the stairway. She does not like a woman about, especially a pretty woman, and doubtless she will dismiss my Louise many times. But, madame, let me entreat you to return to sleep and have no fear. I will even lock the doors of her chambers. She will dis- turb you no more." Claire listened aside to some outer sound, and then exclaimed : "You did not tell me where the comman- dant is, Jacques. He has not gone back to his fortress without me ? " Jacques's face fell into creases of anguish. " Madame, he said you were to sleep undis- turbed till morning." " He should have obtained Mademoiselle de Granville's consent to that. This is not answering a question I have already repeated to you." " Madame, he has taken the Indians and gone in his boat. Soldiers must do all sorts of things, especially commandants. He would not expose you to the dangers of the route by night." " Listen!" Her expression changed. Jacques gladly listened. " I was sure I heard some noise before ! You see you are mistaken. He is not yet gone." Mellow relief, powerful as sunshine, softened the swarthy pallor of Jacques's face. He caught his candle from the chimney shelf and jammed its charred wick against a glowing coral knot in the log. " Madame, that 's m'sieur at the gate. I know his stroke and his call. I '11 bring him up." No man can surely say, with all his ancestry at his back and his unproved nature within, what he can or cannot do in certain crises of his life. " What is it, m'sieur ? " exclaimed Jacques as he let Dollard through the gate. " We went scarce a quarter of a league. I came back because I cannot leave her with- out telling her ; it was a cowardly act ! " ex- claimed Dollard, darting into the house. " She must go with me to Montreal." (To be continued. ) Mary Hartivell Catherwood. AD ASTRA. TF thou hast drained to the lees ■"• The cup of inglorious ease, Think now on the mighty men ; Dream thou dost hear again The voice of Miltiades And the rustle of his laurels. See the stern purpose rise To Cortes' glittering eyes — To cut off all retreat See him sink every ship in his fleet. Then sweep to his golden prize With not one plank behind him. Dost believe all is over and done, And no hope is under the sun ? Then think on the mighty men; Dream thou canst hear again The great shouts of Timoleon That rallied the flying army. And yet not alone for the past Was the mold of heroes cast: Let the Alps and the Andes say What breed there is to-day ; And the poles, and the ocean vast. And the burning waste of Sahara. Think of the soul that needs No background for its deeds ; Of him who bravely bears A mountain of lifelong cares ; Of the heart that aches and bleeds And dies, but never surrenders. O true man, bear thy pains And count thy losses gains; Believe in the brave whom alone Heaven's eye hath seen and known; For as surely as justice reigns, Their reward will shine like their valor. Henry A?nes Blood. ABRAHAM LINCOLN: A HISTORY.i FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION, BY JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, PRIVATE SECRETARIES TO THE PRESIDENT. ^ COMPENSATED ABOLISHMENT. [HE annual message of Pres- ident Lincoln at the open- ing of Congress in De- cember, 1 86 1, treated many subjects of importance™ foreign relations, the condi- tion of the finances, a reor- ganization of the Supreme Court, questions of military administration, the building of a military railroad through Ken- tucky to east Tennessee, the newly organized Territories, a review of military progress to- wards the suppression of rebellion. It con- tained also a vigorous practical discussion of the relations between capital and labor, which pointed out with singular force that " the in- surrection is largely, if not exclusively, a war upon the first principle of popular government — the rights of the people," In addition to these topics, it treated another question of greater importance than all of them, but for the present in so moderate a tone, and with such tentative suggestions, that it excited less immediate comment than any other. This was the question of slavery. It had not escaped Mr. Lincoln's notice that the relations of slavery to the war were pro- ducing rapidly increasing complications and molding public thought to new and radical changes of opinion. His revocation of Fre- mont's proclamation had momentarily checked the clamor of importunate agitators for military emancipation ; but he saw clearly enough that a deep, though as yet undefined, public hope clung to the vague suggestion that slavery and rebellion might perish together. As a significant symptom of this undercurrent of public feeling, there came to him in November a letter from George Bancroft, the veteran Democratic politi- cian and national historian ; a man eminent not only for his v/riting upon the science of govern- 2 It will be remembered that in announcing edito- rially " Abraham Lincoln : A History," November, 1886, it was stated as follows: When "the military portion of this history is reached in magazine pub- lication, care will be taken to avoid as much as pos- sible the repetition of details already given in The Century's war series, while fully presenting that part of the military narrative in which is explained the re- ment, but who as a member of President Polk's cabinet had rendered signal and lasting service in national administration. Mr. Bancroft had lately presit^ed at a meeting in New York called to collect contributions to aid the suffer- ing loyalists of North Carolina. As it happened on all such occasions, the inflamed popular pa- triotism of the hour sprang forward to bold speech and radical argument. Even the mod- erate words of Mr. Bancroft on taking the chair reflected this reformatory spirit : If slavery and the Union are incompatible, listen to the words that come to you from the tomb of Andrew Jackson : ''The Union must be preserved at all hazards." . . . If any one claims the compro- mises of the Constitution, let him begin by placing the Constitution in power by respecting it and up- holding it. 3 In the letter transmitting these remarks and the resolutions of the meeting to Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Bancroft made a yet more emphatic sug- gestion. He wrote : Your administration has fallen upon times which will be remembered as long as human events find a record. I sincerely wish to you the glory of per- fect success. Civil war is the instrument of Divine Providence to root out social slavery; posterity will not be satisfied with the result, unless the conse- quences of the war shall effect an increase of free States. This is the universal expectation and hope of men of all parties.* Such a letter, from a man having the learn- ing, talent, and political standing of its author, is of itself historic; but Mr. Lincoln's reply gives it a special significance. November 18, 1861, he wrote : I esteem it a high honor to have received a note from Mr. Bancroft, inclosing the report of proceed- ings of a New York meeting taking measures for the relief of Union people of North Carolina. I thank you and all others participating for this benevolent and patriotic movement. The main thought in the closing paragraph of your letter is one which does lation of the President to these events." In order to avoid all possibility of misunderstanding, this statement is here repeated. It is expected that, with the excisions referred to, the work will extend through twelve or thirteen numbers more of the magazine. — Editor OF The Century. 3 " The New York Times," Nov. 8, 1861. 4 Unpublished MS. 1 Copyright by J. G. Nicolay and John Hay, 1886. All rights reserved. FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION. 277 not escape my attention, and with whicii I must deal in all due caution, and witli the best judgment I can bring to it.l This language gives us the exact condition of Mr. Lincoln's mind on the subject of slav- ery at that time. He hoped and expected to effect an " increase of free States " through emancipation ; but we shall see that this emancipation was to come through the vol- untary action of the States, and that he desired by this policy to render unnecessary the com- pulsory military enfranchisement which Fre- mont had attempted and which his followers advocated. The prudent caution and good judgment which President Lincoln applied to the solu- tion of this dangerous problem becomes mani- fest when we reexamine its treatment in his annual message mentioned above. Not re- ferring directly to any general plan or hope of emancipation, he nevertheless approached the subject by discussing its immediate and practical necessities in phraseology which gave him limit for expansion into a more decisive policy. It is worth while, not merely to quote the whole passage, but to emphasize the sen- tences which were plainly designed to lead Congress and the country to the contempla- tion of new and possible contingencies. Under and by virtue of the act of Congress en- titled '•'• An Act to Confiscate Property used for Insur- rectionary Purposes," approved August 6, 1861, the legal claims of certain persons to the labor and ser- vice of certain other persons have become forfeited ; and numbers of the latter^ thus liberated^ are already dependent on the United States, and must he provided for in some way. Besides this, it is not impossible that some of the States will pass similar enactments for their own benefit respectively, and by operation of which persons of the same class will be thrown upon them for disposal, hi such case I recommend that Congress provide for accepting such persons from such States, according to some mode of valuation, in lieu, pro tanto, of direct taxes, or upon some other plan to be agreed on with such States respectively ; that such persons, on such acceptance by the General Government, he at once deemed free ; and that, in any event, steps be taken /or colonizing both classes (or the one first mentioned, if the other shall not be brought into existence) at some place or places in a climate congenial to them. It might be well to consider, too, whether the free colored people already in the United States could not, so far as individuals may desire, be included in such colonization. . . . The war continues, hi considering the policy to be adopted for suppressing the insurrection, I have been anxious and careful that the inevitable conflict for this purpose shall not degenerate into a violent and remorseless revolutionary struggle. I have, therefore, in every case, thought it proper to keep the integrity of the Union prominent as the primary 1 Unpublished MS. 2 "Congressional Globe," Appendix, Dec. 3, 1861. object of the contest on our part, leaving all ques- tions which are not of vital military importance to the more deliberate action of the legislature. In the exercise of my best discretion I have ad- hered to the blockade of the ports held by the in- surgents, instead of putting in force, by proclama- tion, the law of Congress enacted at the late session for closing those ports. So, also, obeying the dic- tates of prudence, as well as the obligations of law, instead of transcending, I have adhered to the act of Congress to confiscate property used for insur- rectionary purposes. If a new law upon the same subject shall be proposed, its propriety will be duly considered. The Union must be preserved ; and hence, all indispensahle means must he employed. We should not be in haste to determine that radical and extreme measures, which may reach the loyal as well as the disloyal, are indispensable. 2 Apparently these propositions covered the simple recommendation of colonization, an old and familiar topic which had friends in both free and slave States ; but the language, when closely scanned, is full of novel sugges- tions : that the war has already freed many slaves; that the war may free m.any more; that the President will impartially consider any new law of Congress increasing emanci- pation for rebellion ; that he will not hastily adopt extreme and radical measures ; but that, finally to preserve the Union, all iftdispensable means must be employed. These declarations, in fact, cover the whole of his subsequent treatment of the slavery question. Congress was too busy with pressing prac- tical legislation to find time for immediately elaborating by debate or enactment any of the recommendations thus made. It is not likely that the President expected early action from the national legislature, for he at once turned his own attention to certain initiatory efforts which he had probably carefully medi- tated. He believed that under the pressure of war necessities the border slave-States might be induced to take up the idea of voluntary emancipation if the General Government would pay their citizens the full property value of the slaves they were asked to liberate; and this experiment seemed to him most feasible in the small State of Delaware, which retained only the merest fragment of a property interest in , the peculiar institution. Owing to the division of its voters between Breckinridge, Bell, Lincoln, and Douglas, the electoral vote of Delaware had been cast for Breckinridge in the presidential election of i860 ; but more adroit party management had succeeded in effecting a fusion of the Bell and Lincoln vote for member of Congress, and George P. Fisher had been elected by a small majority. It is of little importance to know the exact shade of Mr. Fisher's politics during the campaign : when the rebellion broke out he was an ardent Unionist, a steadfast friend of 278 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Mr. Lincoln, and perhaps more liberal on the subject of slavery than any other border State representative. He entered readily into Mr. Lincoln's views and plans, which were to in- duce the legislature of Delaware to pass an act of gradual emancipation of the 1798 slaves which it contained by the census of i860, on condition that the United States would pay to Delaware, to be distributed among its slave owners in proper ratio, the sum of $400 for each slave, or a total of $719,200. Mr. Lincoln during the month of November had with his own hand written drafts of two separate bills embracing the principal details of the scheme. By the first, all negroes in Del- aware above the age of thirty-five years should become free on the passage of the act; all born after its passage should remain free ; and all others, after suitable apprenticeship for chil- dren, should become free in the year 1893; also, that the State should meanwhile prevent any of its slaves being sold into servitude else- where.^ The provisions of the second draft were slightly different. Lincoln's manuscript explains : On reflection I like No. 2 the better. By it the nation would pay the State ^23,200 per annum for thirty-one years. All born after the passage of the act would be born free. All slaves above the age of thirty-five years would become free on the passage of the act. All others would become free on arriv- ing at the age of thirty-five years until January, 1893^ when all remaining of all ages would become free, subject to apprenticeship for minors born of slave mothers, up to the respective ages of twenty-one and eighteen. 1 Upon consultation with the President, Mr. Fisher undertook to propose and commend the scheme to his influential party friends in Dela- ware, and if possible to induce the legislature of that State to adopt it. One of the drafts prepared by Mr. Lincoln was rewritten by the friends of the measure in Delaware, embodying the necessary details to give it proper force and local application to become a law of that State. In this shape it was printed and circulated among the mem- bers of the legislature, then holding a special session at Dover. The legislature of Delaware is not a large body; nine members of the Senate and twenty-one members of the House constituted the whole number. No record re- mains of the discussions, formal or informal, which the proposition called forth. The final action, however, indicates the sentiment which prevailed. The friends of emancipation prob- ably ascertained that a hostile majority would 62 1 Unpublished MS. 2 Delaware Senate Journal, Special Session, 1861- 3 "Congressional Globe," March 6, 1862, p. 1102, vote it down, and therefore the laboriously prepared bill was never introduced. The pro- slavery members, unwilling to lose the oppor- tunity of airing their conservatism, immediately prepared a joint resolution reciting the bill at full length and then loading it with the strong- est phrases of condemnation which their party zeal could invent. They said it would encour- age the abolition element in Congress; that it evinced a design to abolish slavery in the States; that Congress had no right to ap- propriate a dollar for the purchase of slaves ; that they were unwilling to make Delaware guarantee the public faith of the United States; th^tMvhen the people of Delaware desired to abolish slavery within her borders they w^ould do so in their own way; and in- timated that the "suggestions of saving ex- pense to the people " were a bribe, which they scornfully repelled. A majority of the twenty- one members of the House passed this joint resolution ; but when it came to the Senate, on the 7 th of February, four of its nine members voted "aye," four voted "no," and one was silent or absent; and so the joint resolution went back "non-concurred in."^ This seems to have closed the legislative record on the subject. Mr. Lincoln was doubtless disappointed at this failure to give his plan of compensated gradual abolishment a starting-point by the favorable action of the State of Delaware. But he did not abandon the project, and his next step was to bring it, through Congress^ to the attention of the country and the States in- terested. On the 6th of March he sent to the Senate and the House of Representatives a special message, recommending the adoption of the' following joint resolution : Resolved, That the United States ought to co- operate with any State which may adopt gradual abolishment of slavery, giving to such State pecuni- ary aid, to be used by such State in its discretion, to compensate for the inconveniences, public and pri- vate, produced by such change of system. 3 His message explained that this was merely the proposal of practical measures which he hoped would follow. He said : The point is not that all the States tolerating slavery would very soon, if at all, initiate eman- cipation ; but that while the offer is equally made to all, the more northern shall, by such initiation, make it certain to the more southern that in no event will the former ever join the latter in their proposed confederacy. I say "initiation" because, in my judgment, gradual, and not sudden, emanci- pation is better for all. . . . Such a proposition on the part of the General Government sets up no claim of a right by Federal authority to interfere with slavery within State limits, referring, as it does, the absolute control of the subject in each case to the FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION, 279 State and its people immediately interested. It is proposed as a matter of perfectly free choice with them. In the annual message last December, I thought fit to say, "The Union must be preserved; and heiice, all indispensable means must be employed." I said this, not hastily, but deliberately. War has been made, and continues to be, an indispensable means to this end. A practical reacknowledgment of the national authority would render the war un- necessary, and it would at once cease. If, however, resistance continues, the war must also continue ; and it is impossible to foresee all the incidents which may attend and all the ruin which may follow it. Such as may seem indispensable, or may obviously promise great efficiency towards ending the struggle, must and will come.l To this public recommendation he added some cogent reasons in private letters to in- fluential persons. Thus, three days after his message, he wrote to the editor of " The New York Times " : I am grateful to the New York journals, and not less so to ''The Times" than to others, for their kind notices of the late special message to Congress. Your paper, however, intimates that the proposi- tion, though well intentioned, must fail on the score of expense. I do hope you will reconsider this. Have you noticed the facts that less than one-half day's cost of this war would pay for all the slaves in Delaware, at four hundred dollars per head? — that eighty-seven days' cost of this war would pay for all in Delaware, Maryland, District of Columbia, Ken- tucky, and Missouri at the same price ? Were those States to take the steps, do you doubt that it would shorten the war more than eighty-seven days, and thus be an actual saving of expense ? Please look at these things, and consider whether there should not be another article in '' The Times." 2 So again, to Senator McDougall, who was opposing the scheme with considerable ear- nestness in the Senate, he wrote privately on March 14 : As to the expensiveness of the plan of gradual emancipation, with compensation, proposed in the late message, please allow me one or two brief sug- gestions. Less than one-half day's cost of the war would pay for all the slaves in Delaware at four hun- dred dollars per head. Thus: All the slaves in Delaware by the census of i860 are .... 1798 $400 Cost of slaves $719,200 One day's cost of the war $2,000,000 Again, less than eighty-seven days' cost of this war would, at the same price, pay for all in Dela- ware, Maryland, District of Columbia, Kentucky, and Missouri. Thus: Slaves in Delaware : i. 798 " " Maryland 87,188 " " District of Columbia 3, 181 " " Kentucky 225,490 " '• Missouri 114,965 432,622 $400 Cost of slaves $173,048,800 Eighty-seven days' cost of the war $174,000,000 Do you doubt that taking the initiatory steps on the part of those States and this District would shorten the war more than eighty-seven days, and thus be an actual saving of expense? A word as to the time and manner of incurring the expense. Sup- pose, for instance, a State devises and adopts a sys- tem by which the institution absolutely ceases therein by a named day — say January i, 1882. Then let the sum to be paid to such State by the United States be ascertained by taking from the cen- sus of i860 the number of slaves within the State, and multiplying that number by four hundred — the United States to pay such sums to the State in twenty equal annual installments;, in six per cent, bonds of the United States. The sum thus given, as to time and manner ^ I think would not be half as onerous as would be an equal sum raised now for the indefinite prosecution of the war ; but of this you can judge as well as 1.2 It was between the dates of these letters that President Lincoln made the most important personal effort to secure favorable action on his project of gradual abolishment. At his request such members of Congress from the border slave-States of Delaware, Maryland, [West] Virginia, Kentucky, and Missouri as were present in Washington came in a body to the Executive Mansion on March 10, where a somewhat lengthy interview and discussion of this subject ensued, the substance of which was authentically reported by them. In read- ing the account of the interview, it must be remembered that Lincoln was addressing the representatives of such slave States as had re- mained loyal, and his phrases respecting his attitude and intention towards slavery were not intended by him to apply to the States whose persistent rebeUion had forfeited the consid- eration and rights which the others could justly claim. In explanation of his message the President recited to the assembled border State mem- bers the complications and embarrassments resulting from army operations among loyal or partly loyal communities, and the irritating conflicts of opinion produced thereby in the Northern States. Disclaiming any intention to injure or wound the loyal slave States, and recognizing that the right of emancipation was exclusively under their own control, he had proposed this offer in good faith — not as a threat, but as the shortest and easiest way to end the war by eliminating its cause and motive. He did not ask an immediate answer, but pressed it upon their serious consideration, and hoped that after earnest conference and inquiry their views of duty and the interests of their constituents might enable them to accept it 1 " Congressional Globe," March 6, 1862, page 1 102. 2 Unpublished MS. 28o ABRAHAM LINCOLN. voluntarily and in the same patriotic spirit in which it was made.^ It is not to be wondered at that his audi- tors were unable to give him affirmative replies, or even remote encouragement. Representing slaveholding constituencies, their natural at- titude was one of unyielding conservatism. Their whole tone was one of doubt, of quali- fied protest, and of apprehensive inquiry. They had not failed to note that in his annual mes- sage of December 3, and his special message of March 6, he had announced his determina- tion to use all " indispensable means " to pre- serve the Union, and had hinted that necessity might force him to employ extreme measures ; and one of them asked pointedly " if the Pres- ident looked to any policy beyond the accept- ance or rejection of this scheme." His answer was frank and direct. Mr. Crisfield of Mary- land writes : The President replied that he had no designs be- yond the action of the States on this particular sub- ject. He should lament their refusal to accept it, but he had no designs beyond their refusal of it. . . . Unless he was expelled by the act of God or the Confederate armies, he should occupy that house for three years, and as long as he remained there Mary- land had nothing to fear, cither for her institutions or her interests, on the points referred to. 2 The day on which this interview was held, Roscoe Conkling introduced into the House of Representatives the exact joint resolution which the President had recommended in his message of the 6th, and debate on the subject was begun. The discussion developed a wide 1 An extended quotation from the abstract of the President's remarks as written out by Mr. Crisfield, representative from Maryland, will be read with inter- est : " After the usual salutations and we were seated, the President said, in substance, that he had invited us to meet him to have some conversation with us in ex- planation of his message of the 6th ; that since he had sent it in, several of the gentlemen then present had visited him, but had avoided any allusion to the mes- sage, and he therefore inferred that the import of the message had been misunderstood, and was regarded as inimical to the interests we represented ; and he had resolved he would talk with us, and disabuse our minds of that erroneous opinion. The President then disclaimed any intent to injure the interests or wound the sensibilities of the slave States. On the contrary, his purpose was to protect the one and respect the other. That we were engaged in a terrible, wasting, and tedious war ; immense armies were in the field, and must continue in the field as long as the war lasts ; that these armies must, of necessity, be brought into contact with slaves in the States we represented, and in other States as they advanced ; that slaves would come to the camps, and continual irritation was kept up. That he was constantly annoyed by conflicting and antagonis- tic complaints : on the one side, a certain class com- plained if the slave was not protected by the army — persons were frequently found who, participating in these views, acted in a way unfriendly to the slave- holder ; on the other hand, slaveholders complained that their rights were interfered with, their slaves in- duced to abscond and protected within the lines. These divergence of views among representatives. Moderate Republicans generally supported the resolution; even somewhat extreme antislavery men, such as Lovejoy in the House and Sum- ner in the Senate, indicated their willingness to join in the liberal corhpensation the Presi- dent had proposed, if the loyal slave States would consent to relinquish their portion of the disturbing and' dangerous evil. Since it was not a practical measure, but simply an announcement of policy, the opposition was not strenuous ; a few border State representa- tives and the more obstinate Democrats from free States joined in a somewhat ill-natured dissent. The-resolution was passed on the fol- lowing day (yeas, 89; nays, 31). The action of the Senate was very similar, though the debate was a little more delayed. The resolu- tion was passed in that body April 2 (yeas, 32; nays, 10), and received the President's signa- ture on the loth of April, 1862. By his initiative and influence Mr. Lincoln thus committed the executive and legislative departments of the Government to the policy of compensated emancipation ; and there is no doubt that, had his generous offer been accepted by the border States within a reasonable time, the pledge embodied in the joint resolution would have been promptly redeemed. Though it afterwards turned out that this action re- mained only sentimental and prospective, it nevertheless had no inconsiderable effect in bringing to pass a very important practical measure. In its long contest for political supremacy, complaints were numerous, loud, and deep ; were a serious annoyance to him, and embarrassing tothe prog- ress of the war ; that it kept alive a spirit hostile to the Govern'ment in the States we represented; strength- ened the hopes of the Confederates that at some day the border States would unite with them and thus tend to prolong the war ; and he was of opinion, if this resolution should be adopted by Congress and ac- cepted by our States, these causes of irritation and these hopes would be removed, and more would be accom- plished towards shortening the war than could b,e hoped from the greatest victory achieved by Union ar- mies. That he made this proposition in good faith, and desired it to be accepted, if at all, voluntarily, and in the same patriotic spirit in which it was made; that emancipation was a subject exclusively under the con- trol of the States, and must be adopted or rejected by each for itself; that he did not claim, nor had this Gov- ernment, any right to coerce them for that purpose ; that such was no part of his purpose in making this proposition, and he wished it to be clearly understood. That he did not expect us there to be prepared to give him an answer, but he hoped we would take the subject into serious consideration, confer with one another, and then take such course as we felt our duty and the interests of our constituents required of us." There followed after this much informal discussion, also re- ported in brief by Mr. Crisfield, for which there is not room in this note. The whole will be found in McPherson, " History of the Rebellion," p. 210 et seq. 2 McPherson, "History of the Rebellion," p. 211. FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION. 281 slavery had clung with unyielding tenacity to its foothold in the District of Columbia, where it had been the most irritating eyesore to Northern sentiment. Whatever might be con- ceded to the doctrine of State sovereignty, antislavery men felt that the peculiar institu- tion had no claim to the exclusive shelter of the Federal flag; on the other hand, proslavery men saw that to relinquish this claim would be fatal to their determination to push it to a na- tional recognition and existence. Hence the abolition or the maintenance of slavery in the District of Columbia had become a frequent issue in party politics. The prohibition of the slave trade in the District was indeed effected in the great compromise of 1850; but this conces- sion was more than counterbalanced by the proslavery gains of that political bargain, and since then the abolition of slavery itself in this central Federal jurisdiction seemed to have become impossible until rebellion provoked the change. Under the new conditions antislavery zeal was pushing its lance into every joint of the monster's armor, and this vulnerable point was not overlooked. The Constitution placed the District of Columbia exclusively under the legislation of Congress, and by their rebellious withdrawal from their seats in the two houses the Southern members and senators had volun- tarily surrendered this citadel of their propa- gandism. President Lincoln had not specifically rec- ommended abolishment in the District in his annual message ; but he had introduced a bill for such a purpose when he was a member of Congress in 1849, and it was well known that his views had undergone no change. Later on, the already recited special message of March 6 embraced the subject in its larger aspects and recommendations. Thus, with per- fect knowledge that it would receive executive sanction, the House on April 11 (yeas, 92; nays, 38) and the Senate on April 3 (yeas, 29 ; nays, 14) passed an act of immediate emanci- pation of the slaves in the District of Columbia, with compensation to the owners, to be dis- tributed by a commission, the whole not to ex- ceed an aggregate of $300 per slave. The act also appropriated the sum of $100,000 for expenses of voluntary emigration to Hayti or Liberia. President Lincoln signed the act on the i6th of April, and in his short message of approval said : I have never doubted the constitutional author- ity of Congress to abolish slavery in this District ; and I have ever desired to see the National capital freed from the institution in some satisfactory way. Hence there has never been in my mind any ques- tion upon the subject except the one of expediency, arising in view of all the circumstances. ... I Vol. XXXVII. — 39. am gratified that the two principles of compensation and colonization are both recognized and practically applied in the act.l Certain omissions in the law, which the Presi- dent pointed out, were remedied by supplement- ary enactments, which among other safeguards and provisions added to the boon of freedom the privilege of education by opening pubhc schools to colored children. SIGNS OF THE TIMES. Before enough time had elapsed to judge of the probable eftect of Lincoln's ofter of compensation to the border States, a new incident occurred which further complicated the President's dealings with the slavery ques- tion. About the middle of May he was sur- prised to learn from the newspapers that General David Hunter, whom he had recently sent to command the Department of the South, had issued an order of military emancipation. Reciting that the Department of the South was under martial law, the order declared, " Slavery and martial law in a free country are altogether incompatible. The persons in these three States — Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina — -heretofore held as slaves are therefore declared free." So far as can be judged, General Hunter was moved to this step by what seemed to him the requirements of his new surroundings and the simple dictates of natural justice. He was a warm personal and political friend of President Lincoln, was entirely free from mo- tives of selfish ambition, and was not a man who would suffer himself to be made the instru- ment of a political combination. Of strong antislavery convictions, his duty as a soldier in the service of the Union was as single-hearted and as sacred as that of a crusader sent to res- cue the Holy Sepulcher from the Infidel. In his eyes rebellion and slavery were intertwined abominations to be struck and conquered simultaneously. When he took command of the Department of the South he found himself surrounded by new conditions. The capture of Port Royal in the preceding November had been followed by the flight of the whole white population, leaving the entire coast from North Edisto River to Warsaw Sound, a distance of sixty or seventy miles, in the hands of the captors. This was the region of the famous sea island cotton plantations, in which the slaves outnumbered the whites nearly five to one. In their sudden flight the whites were compelled to abandon their slaves as well as their homes, and a large negro population thus fell immediately to the care and protection of the Union army. 1 " Congressional Globe," April 16, 1862. 252 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. The exercise of common humanity forced the miUtary administration of the department beyond mere warhke objects. The commander, General Thomas W. Sherman, issued an ad- dress 1 to the white inhabitants, inviting them to return and reoccupy their lands and homes, and continue their peaceful vocations under the auspices and protection of the Government of the United States. Except in a very few instances the friendly invitation was defiantly refused. They not only preferred ruin and exile, but did such mischief as lay in their power by ordering their cotton to be burned ^ and cir- culating among the blacks the statement that the Yankees would seize them, send them away, and sell them into slavery in Cuba. Such was the distrust excited by the falsehood, that a month after the capture of Port Royal but about 320 blacks had ventured into Sherman's camps ; nearly all these were decrepit, or were women and children, there being only sixty able-bodied men among them.^ For the present the slaves made most of tlieir abrupt holiday. But their scanty clothing wore out, the small stock of provisions on the plantations was exhausted. At the time of their masters' flight much of the cotton crop was still in the fields. In the increasing demand for this product it became an object for the Government to collect and preserve what was left ; and this work, begun under the joint orders of the War and Treasury depart- ments, set on foot the first organization of the colored population for labor and government. Military orders divided the country into dis- tricts, with agents to superintend the plantations, to enroll and organize the blacks into working parties, to furnish them necessary food and clothing, and to pay them for their labor. Private philanthropy also gave timely and valuable assistance. Relief societies, organized in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, col- lected funds and employed teachers, some fifty of whom reached Beaufort the 9th of March, 1862, and began a much-needed work of combined encouragement, guardianship, and instruction, thus replacing the elements of so- cial government which the slaves had lost by the withdrawal of their masters and mistresses. The control of the captured and abandoned cotton and other property fell to the Treasury Department, and in this connection Secretary Chase, at the President's request, gave the edu- cational enterprise his official sanction and supervision ; later on, the War Department as- sumed and continued the work. Compelled 1 War Records. 2 T. W. Sherman to Thomas, Dec. 15, 1861. War Records. 3 T. W. Sherman to Adjutant-General, Feb. 9, 1862. War Records. from the first to rely upon " contrabands " for information and assistance, and to a large extent for military labor, it gave them in re- turn not only wages for the actual service per- formed, but necessary food and shelter for the destitute, and with the return of the spring season furnished them, so far as possible, seed and implements of husbandry, and encouraged them to renew their accustomed labor in the gardens and fields of the abandoned planta- tions, in order to provide for, or at least con- tribute to, their own maintenance. Under this treatment confidence was quickly established. In two months the number of blacks within the Union lines increased from 320 to over 9000.^ When General Hunter took command of the Departfnent of the South, this industrial and educational organization of the blacks was just beginning. Military usefulness was of the first importance in his eyes, particularly as his forces were insufficient for offensive movement. It was not unnatural that, seeing the large colored population within his lines, much of it unemployed, his thoughts should turn to the idea of organizing, arming, and training regiments of colored soldiers ; and as- suming that the instructions of the War De- partment conferred the necessary authority, he began the experiment without delay. It was amid all these conditions, which at that time did not exist elsewhere, that General Hunter issued the already recited order announcing that slavery and martial law were incompatible, and declaring free all slaves in his department. The presence of the Union army had visibly created anew order of things, and he doubtless felt it a simple duty to proi^laim officially what practically had come to pass. The mails from the Department of the South could only come by sea; hence a week elapsed after the promulgation of Hunter's order before knowledge of it came to the President through its publication in the New York newspapers. The usual acrimonious comments immediately followed : radicals approved it. Democrats and conservatives denounced it; and the President Vv^as assailed for inaction on the one hand and for treachery on the other. Lincoln's own judgment of the act was definite and prompt. " No commanding general shall do such a thing, upon my responsibifity, without consult- ing me," he wrote in answer to a note from Chase, who wished the order to stand. Three days later (May 19, 1862) the Pres- ident pubhshed a proclamation reciting that the Government had no knowledge or part in the issuing of Hunter's order of emancipation, that neither Hunter nor any other person had been authorized to declare free the slaves of any State, and that his order in that respect was altogether void. The President continued: FIRST PLANS FOR FMANCIPATION. 283 I further make it known that whether it be com- petent for me, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, to declare the slaves of any State or States free, and whether at any time, in any case it shall haVe become a necessity indispensable to the main- tenance of the Government to exercise such supposed power, are questions which, under my responsibility, I reserve to myself, and which I cannot feel justified in leaving to the decision of commanders in the field. These are totally different questions from those of police regulations in armies and camps. While the President thus drew a sharp dis- tinction between the Hmited authority of com- manders in the field and the full reservoir of executive powers in his own hands, for future contingencies, he utilized the occasion for a forcible admonition to the border slave-States. Reminding them that he by recommendation, and Congress by joint resolution, had made them a formal tender and pledge of payment for their slaves if they would voluntarily abol- ish the institution, he counseled them in words of parental wisdom and affection not to neglect this opportunity of financial security to them- selves and patriotic benefit to their country. He said : To the people of those States I now earnestly ap- peal. I do not argue ; I beseech you to make the arguments for yourselves. You cannot, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times. I beg of you a calm and enlarged consideration of them, ranging, if it may be, far above personal and partisan politics. This proposal makes common cause for a common object, casting no reproaches upon any. it acts not the Pharisee. The changes it contemplates would come gently as the dews of heaven — not rending or wrecking anything. Will you not embrace it ? So much good has not been done by one effort in all past times as, in the providence of God, it is now your high privilege to do. May the vast future not have to lament that you have neglected it.l The " signs of the times " were indeed mul- tiplying to a degree that ought to have at- tracted the notice of the border States, even without the pointing finger of the President. How far the presence of the Confederate ar- mies, embodying a compact proslavery sen- timent, had up to that time interfered locally with the relations of master and slave we have no means of knowing ; we do know that before the end of the rebellion the conditions of war — military necessity — brought even the rebel Government and the unconquered slave communities to the verge of emancipation and the general military employment of the blacks. But Northern armies, embodying a compact antislavery sentiment, stationed or moving in slave communities, acted on the " institution " as a disturbing, relaxing, and disintegrating force, constant in operation, which no vigilance 1 Proclamation, May 19, 1862. 2 The first session of the Thirty-seventh Congress could shut out and no regulations could rem- edy. Whether in Kentucky or Virginia, Mis- souri or Mississippi, the slave gave the Union soldiers his sympathy and his help ; while for services rendered, and still more for services expected, the soldiers returned friendship and protection, finding no end of pretexts to evade any general orders to the contrary. From the army this feeling communicated itself sometimes directly to Congress, sometimes to the soldier's Northern home, from which it was in turn reflected upon that body. The antislavery feeling at the North, excited by the ten-years' political contention, intensified by the outbreak of rebelhon, was thus fed and stimulated, and grew with every day's duration of the war. Conservative opinion could not defend a system that had wrought the convul- sion and disaster through which the nation was struggling. Radical opinion lost no op- portunity to denounce it and attack its vulner- able points. Of the operations of this sentynent the de- bates and enactments of Congress afford an approximate measure. During the long session from December 2, 1861, to July 17, 1862, the subject seemed to touch every topic at some point,while the affirmative propositions of which slavery was the central and vital object were of themselves sufficiently numerous to absorb a large share of the discussions. Leaving out of view the many resolutions and bills which received only passing attention, or which were at once rejected, this second session ^ of the Thirty-seventh Congress perfected and en- acted a series of antislavery measures which amounted to a complete reversal of the policy of the General Government. At the date of the President's proclamation quoted above calling attention to the " signs of the times," only a portion of these measures had reached final en- actment; but the drift and portent of their coming was unmistakable. In the restricted limits of these pages it is impossible to pass them in review separately or chronologically ; nor does the date of their passage and ap- proval always indicate the relation in which they engrossed the attention of Congress. The consideration of the general subject was, we may almost say, continuous, and the reader will obtain a better idea of their cumulative force and value from a generalized abstract, showing the importance and scope of the sev- eral acts and sections as related to each other. First. One of the earliest forms of the dis- cussion arose upon the constantly recurring question of returning to slave-owners such run- aways as sought the protection of the Union camps, and regarding which various command- was the special session held in July and August, 1861, under President Lincoln's proclamation. 284 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. ers had issued such different and contradic- tory orders. It has already been stated that the President left his officers full discretion on this point, because it fell properly within the neces- sities of camp and police regulations. The somewhat harsh and arbitrary order No. 3, is- sued by General Halleck in Missouri, provoked widespread comment and indignation; and though the general insisted that the spirit of the order was purely military, and not political, it undoubtedly hastened and intensified con- gressional action. By an act approved March 13, 1862, a new article of war was added to the army regulations, which enjoined, under usual penalties, that " All officers or persons in the military or naval service of the United States are prohibited from employing any of the forces under their respective commands for the purpose of returning fugitives from service or labor who may have escaped," etc. Later, Section 10 of the Confiscation Act^ was virtu- ally an amendment of the fugitive-slave law; providing thgt the claimant might not use its authority until he had taken an oath of alle- giance, and prohibiting any person in the army or navy from surrendering a fugitive slave, or presuming to decide the validity of the owner's claim. Second. No less to fulfill the dictates of pro- priety and justice than for its salutary influence on the opinion of foreign nations, the annual message of the President had recommended a recognition of the independence and sover- eignty of Hayti and Liberia, and the appoint- ment of diplomatic representatives to those new states. This was duly authorized by an act approved June 5, 1862. Similar reasons also secured the passage of "An act to carry into effect the treaty between the United States and her Britannic Majesty for the sup- pression of the African slave-trade," approved July II, 1862. That this action betokened more than mere hollow profession and sentiment is evinced by the fact that under the prosecution of the Government, the slave-trader Nathaniel P. Gordon was convicted and hanged in New York on the 2TSt of February, 1862, this being the first execution for this offense under the laws of the United States, after their enforce- ment had been neglected and their extreme penalty defied for forty years. lliird. The third marked feature of con- gressional antislavery enactment was one which, in a period of peace, would have signal- ized the culmination of a great party triumph and taken its place as a distinctive political landmark. Now, however, in the clash and turmoil of war it was disposed of, not so miv:h in the light of a present party conquest, as the simple necessary registration of accomplished 1 Approved July 17, 1862. facts, wrought beyond recall by passing events, recognized by public opinion, and requiring only the formahty of parliamentary attestation. Its title was, " An act to secure freedom to all persons within territories of the United States," approved June 19, 1^62. This was the reali- zation of the purpose which had called the Republican party into being, namely, the res- toration of the Missouri Compromise, its ex- tension and application to all Territories of the United States, and as a logical result the re- jection and condemnation of the proslavery doctrines of the Dred Scott decision, the de- mand for a congressional slave code, and the subversive " property theory " of Jefferson Davis. These were the issues which had caused the six-ye^frs' political contention between the North and the South; and upon its defeat at the ballot-box by the election of President Lincoln, the South had appealed to the sword. Fourth. Still advancing another step in the prevalent antislavery progress, we come to the policy of compensated emancipation so stren- uously urged by the President. Action on this point has already been described, namely, the joint resolution of Congress, approved April 10, 1862, virtually pledging the aid of the Government to any State which would adopt it, and the act, approved April 16, 1862, with its amendments, actually abolishing slavery in the District of Columbia, with compensation to owners. The earnestness of Congress in this reform is marked by the additional step that under acts approved May 21 and July- 11, 1862, certain provisions were made for the education of colored children in the cities of Washington and Georgetown, District of Columbia. Fifth. By far the most important of all the antislavery laws of this period, both in scope and purpose, was a new Confiscation Act, per- fected after much deliberation, passed at the close of the session, and approved by the Presi- dent July 17, 1862. The act of August 6, 1 86 1, only went to the extent of making free the slaves actually employed in rebel military service. The new law undertook to deal more generally with the subject, and indeed extended its provisions somewhat beyond the mere idea of confiscation. While other subjects were in- cluded, its spirit and object would have been better expressed by the title of "An act to de- stroy slavery under the powers of war." In ad- dition to other and usual penalties for treason or rebellion, it declared that slaves of persons guilty and convicted of these crimes should be made free; that slaves of rebels escaping and taking refuge within the army lines, slaves captured from rebels or deserted by them and coming under the control of the United States Government, and slaves of rebels found in FIRST PLANS FOR FMANCIPATION. 285 any place occupied by rebel forces and after- wards occupied by the Union army, should all be deemed captives of war and be forever free. . Sixth. Coupled with the foregoing sweeping provisions, intended to destroy title in slave property as a punishment for treason and re- bellion, were other provisions, which, under guarded phraseology, looked to the active or- ganized employment of slaves as a substantial military force — which military service should in its turn also, in specified cases, work en- franchisement from bondage. Thus, in certain amendments of the militia laws ^ it was enacted that the President might enroll and employ contrabands in such camp labor or military service as they were fitted for, and that their wives, mothers, and children, if they belonged to armed rebels, should become free by vir- tue of such service. Section 1 1 of the Con- fiscation Act, however, conferred a still broader authority upon the Government for this object. It provided: That the President of the United States is au- thorized to employ as many persons of African descent as he may deem necessary and proper for the suppression of this rebellion, and for this purpose he may organize and use them in such manner as he may judge best for the public welfare. This section allowed a latitude of construc- tion which permitted the organization of a few of the earliest regiments of colored soldiers. In tracing the antislavery policy of Presi- dent Lincoln, his opinions upon some of the prominent features of these laws become of special interest. He followed the discussion and perfecting of the Confiscation Act with careful attention, and as it neared its passage prepared a veto message, pointing out several serious defects, which Congress hastily reme- died in anticipation by an explanatory joint resolution. When the bill and resolution were submitted to him he signed both, as being sub- stantially a single act, and, to place himself right upon the record, transmitted with his notice of approval a copy of the draft of his intended veto message. The constitutional objection and the imperfections of detail in the original bill do not require mention here, but his views on emancipation and military em- ployment of slaves may not be omitted. There is much in the bill to which I perceive no objection. It is wholly prospective ; and it touches neither person nor property of any loyal citizen, in which particular it is just and proper. ... It is also provided that the slaves of persons convicted under these sections shall be free. I think there is an unfortunate form of expression, rather than a sub- stantial objection, in this. It is startling to say that Congress can free a slave within a State, and yet if it were said the ownership of the slave had first been transferred to the nation, and that Congress had then liberated him, the difficulty would at once vanish. And this is the real case. The traitor against the General Government forfeits his slave at least as justly as he does any other property ; and he forfeits both to the Government against which he offends. The Government, so far as there can be ownership, thus owns the forfeited slaves, and the question for Congress in regard to them is, "Shall they be made free or be sold to new masters ? " I perceive no objection to Congress deciding in ad- vance that they shall be free. To the high honor of Kentucky, as I am informed, she has been the owner of some slaves hy escheat, and has sold none, but liberated all. I hope the same is true of some other States. Indeed, 1 do not believe it would be physically possible for the General Government to return persons so circumstanced to actual slavery. I believe there would be physical resistance to it which could neither be turned aside by argument nor driven away by force. In this view I have no objection to this feature of the bill. . , . The eleventh section simply assumes to confer discretion- ary power upon the Executive. Without the law, I have no hesitation to go as far in the direction in- dicated as I may at any time deem expedient. And I am ready to say now, I think it is proper for our military commanders to employ, as laborers, as many persons of African descent as can be used to advan- tage. 2 The number and variety of antislavery pro- visions cited above show how vulnerable was the peculiar institution in a state of war, and demonstrate again the folly and madness of the slaveholders' appeal to arms. All the pen- alties therein prescribed were clearly justi- fiable by the war powers of the nation and sustained by military necessity. So far the laws had not touched a single right of a loyal slave- holder in a slave State, either within or with- out the territory held by Confederate arms; but day by day it became manifest that the whole slave system was so ramified and inter- twined with political and social conditions in slave States, both loyal and disloyal, that it must eventually stand or fall in mass. In short, the proof was more absolute in war than in peace that slavery was purely the creature of positive law in theory, and of universal police regulations unremittingly enforced in practice. It must not be supposed that the discussion and enactment of these measures proceeded without decided opposition. The three fac- tions of which Congress was composed main- tained the same relative position on these topics that they had occupied since the beginning of the rebellion. The bulk of the resistance was furnished by the Democratic members, 1 An act to amend the act calling forth the militia to the acts amendatory thereof, and for other purposes, execute the laws of the Union, suppress insurrections, approved Jul}^ 17, 1862, sections 12 and 13. and repel invasions, approved February 28, 1795, ^"^1 ^ Senate Journal, July 17, 1862, pp. 872, 873. 286 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. who, while as a rule they condemned the re- bellion, reiterated their previous accusations that the Republican party had provoked it. Now again at every antislavery proposition, no matter how necessary or justifiable, they charged that it was a violation of express or implied political faith, and a stumbling-block to reconciliation, which, against the plainest evi- dences, they assumed to be still possible. In a hopeless minority, and with no chance to affect legislation affirmatively even by indirection, they yet maintained the attitude of an ill-na- tured opposition, yielding assent only to the most necessary war measures, while with so- phistical and irritating criticism they were in- dustriously undermining public confidence in the President and his adherents by every party and parliamentary device they could invent. There is little doubt that this action of the Democrats in Congress, in addition to its other pernicious effects, served to render the border- State delegations more stubborn and intractable against making any concessions towards the lib- eral and reformatory policy which President Lincoln so strongly urged. The statesmen and politicians of the border slave-States were quick enough to perceive the danger to their whole slave system, but not resolute enough to pre- pare to meet and endure its removal, and ac- cept a money equivalent in exchange. Against evidence and conviction they clung tenaciously to the idea that the war ought to be prosecuted without damage to slavery; and their repre- sentatives and senators in Congress, with a very few brave exceptions, resisted from first to last all antislavery enactments. We may admit that in this course they represented truly the majority feeling and will of their several constituencies; but such an admission is fatal to any claim on their part to political foresight or leadership. Indeed, one of the noticeable and lamentable features of the earlier stages of the rebellion was the sudden loss of power among border-State leaders, both at home and in Congress. We can now see that their weakness resulted unavoidably from their de- fensive position. During the secession stage they only ventured to act defensively against that initial heresy, and as a rule the offensive and unscrupulous conspirators kept the advan- tage of an aggressive initiative. Now in the new stage of antislavery reaction they were again merely on the defensive and under the disad- vantage which that attitude always brings with it. In Congress, as a faction, they were sadly diminished in numbers and shorn of personal prestige. They could count only a single con- spicuous representative — the venerable John J. Crittenden; but burdened with the weight of years, and hedged by the tangles and pitfalls of his conservative obligations, he was timid. spiritless, despondent. The record of the bor- der-State delegations, therefore, during this strong antislavery movement of congressional enactment is simply one of protests, excuses, appeals, and direful prophecies. Against them the positive affirmative -prog- ress of antislavery sentiment gathered force and volume from every quarter. Whatever the momentary or individual outcry, it was easy to perceive that every antislavery speech, resolution, vote, or law received quick sustain- ing acceptance from public sentiment, in the North and from the fighting Union armies in the South. The Republican majority in Con- gress noted and responded to" fliese symptoms of approval, and the radical leaders in that body were , constantly prompted by them to more advanced demands and votes. Anti- slavery opinion in Congress not only had the advantage of overpowering numbers, but also of conspicuous ability. A high average talent marked the Republican membership, which, as a rule, spoke and voted for the before-men- tioned antislavery measures ; Avhile among those whose zeal gave them especial promi- nence in these debates, the names of Charles Sumner in the Senate and of Thaddeus Ste- vens and Owen Lovejoy in the House need only be mentioned to show what high quali- ties of zeal and talent pursued the peculiar in- stitution with unrelenting warfare. To the rebellious South, to the loyal popu- lation of the border slave-States, and to the extreme conservatism of the North, particularly that faction represented by Democratic mem- bers of Congress, President Lincoln's proposal of gradual compensated abolishment doubtless seemed a remarkable if not a dangerous inno- vation' upon the practical politics of half a century. But this conservatism failed to com- prehend the mighty sweep and power of the revolution of opinion which slavery had put in motion by its needless appeal to arms. In point of fact, the President stood sagaciously mid- way between headlong reform and blind reac- tion. His steady, cautious direction and control of the average public sentiment of the country alike held back rash experiment and spurred lagging opinion. Congress, with a strong Re- publican majority in both branches, was stirred by hot debate on the new issues. The indirect influence of the Executive was much greater than in times of peace : a reckless President could have done infinite damage to the deli- cate structure of constitutional government. As it was, antislavery resentment was restrained and confined to such changes of legislation as were plainly necessary to vindicate the Consti- tution, laws, and traditions which the rebellion had wantonly violated; but these were suflr- ciently numerous and pointed to mark a pro- FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION. 287 found transformation of public policy in little more than a year. Under the occasion and spur which the rebellion furnished, a twelvemonth wrought that which had not been dreamed of in a decade, or which would otherwise have been scarcely possible to achieve in a century. Four months had now elapsed since Presi- dent Lincoln proposed and Congress sanctioned the policy of compensated emancipation in the border slave-States. Except in its indirect in- fluence upon public opinion, no definite result had as .yet attended the proposal. Great fluc- tuations had occurred in the war and great strides had been made in legislation; but the tendency so far had been rather to complicate than simplify the political situation, to exas- perate rather than appease contending factions and conflicting opinions. This condition of things, while it might have endured for a while, could not prolong itself indefinitely. Little by little the war was draining the lifeblood of the republic. However effectually the smoke and dust of the conflict might shut the view from the general eye, or however flippantly small politicians might hide the question under the heat and invective of factional quarrel. Presi- dent Lincoln, looking to the future, saw that, to replenish the waste of armies and maintain a compact popular support, the North must be united in a sentiment and policy affording a plain, practical aim and solution, both political and military. The policy he decided upon was not yet ripe for announcement, but the time had arrived to prepare the way for its avowal and acceptance. As the next proper step in such a preparation, the President, on the 12th of July, 1862, again convened the border- State delegations at the Executive Mansion, and read to them the following carefully prepared second appeal to accept compensation for slaves in their respective States : Gentlemen : After the adjournment of Congress, now near, 1 shall have no opportunity of seeing you for several months. Believing that you of the border States hold more power for good than any other equal number of members, I feel it a duty which I cannot justifiably waive to make this appeal to you. I intend no reproach or complaint when I assure you that, in my opinion, if you all had voted for the resolution in the gradual emancipation message of last March the war would now be substantially ended. And the plan therein proposed is one of the most potent and swift means of ending it. Let the States which are in rebellion see definitely and cer- tainly that in no event will the States you represent ever join their proposed confederacy, and they can- not much longer maintain the contest. But you cannot divest them of their hope to ultimately have you with them so long as you show a determination to perpetuate the institution within your own States. Beat them at elections, as you have overwhelmingly done, and, nothing daunted, they still claim you as their own. You and I know what the lever of their power is. Break that lever before their faces, and they can shake you no more forever. Most of you have treated me with kindness and consideration, and I trust you will not now think I improperly touch what is exclusively your own when, for the sake of the whole country, I ask, "Can you, for your States, do better than to take the course I urge ? " Discarding punctilios and maxims adapted to more manageable times, and looking only to the unprece- dentedly stern facts of our case, can you do better in any possible event ? You prefer that the consti- tutional relation of the States to the nation shall be practically restored without disturbance of the insti- tution ; and if this were done, my whole duty, in this respect, under the Constitution and my oath of office, would be performed. But it is not done, and we are trying to accomplish it by war. The inci- dents of the war cannot be avoided. If the war continues long, as it must if the object be not sooner attained, the institution in your States will be ex- tinguished by mere friction and abrasion — by the mere incidents of the war. It will be gone, and you will have nothing valuable in lieu of it. Much of its value is gone already. How much better for you and for your people to take the step which at once shortens the war, and secures substantial compensa- tion for that which is sure to be wholly lost in any other event. How much better to thus save the money which else we sink forever in the war. How much better to do it while we can, lest the war ere long render us pecuniarily unable to do it. How much better for you as* seller, and the nation as buyer, to sell out and buy out that without which the war could never have been, than to sink both the thing to be sold and the price of it in cutting one another's throats. 1 do not speak of emancipa- tion at once, but of a decision at once to emanci- pate gradually. Room in South America for coloniza- tion can be obtained cheaply and in abundance, and when numbers shall be large enough to be company and encouragement for one another, the. freed peo- ple will not be so reluctant to go. I am pressed with a difficulty not yet mentioned — one which threatens division among those who, united, are not too strong. An instance' of it is known to you. General Hunter is an honest man. He was, and I hope still is, my friend. I valued him none the less for his agreeing with me in the general wish that all men everywhere could be freed. He proclaimed all men free within certain States, and I repudiated the proclamation. He ex- pected more good and less harm from the measure than I could believe would follow. Yet, in repudi- ating it, I gave dissatisfaction, if not offense, to many whose support the country cannot afford to lose. And this is not the end of it. The pressure in this direction is still upon me, and is increasing. By conceding what I now ask you can relieve me and, much more, can relieve the country in this important point. Upon these considerations I have again begged your attention to the message of March last. Before leaving the capital, consider and discuss it among yourselves. You«Qre patriots and statesmen, and as such I pray you consider this proposition ; and at the least commend it to the consideration of your States and people. As you would perpetuate popular gov- ernment for the best people in the world, I beseech you that you do in no wise omit this. Our common country is in great peril, demanding the loftiest ABRAHAM LINCOLN. views and boldest action to bring a speedy relief. Once relieved, its form of government is saved to the world, its beloved history and cherished mem- ories are vindicated, and its happy future fully as- sured and rendered inconceivably grand. To you, more than to any others, the privilege is given to assure that happiness and swell that grandeur, and to link your own names therewith forever. It is doubtful whether the President ex- pected any more satisfactory result from this last appeal to the border-State representatives than had attended his previous one. He had had abundant occasion to observe their course in the congressional debates; the opportunity had been long before them and they had not taken advantage of it ; amid the revolutionary impulse and action which were moving the whole country their inaction on this subject was equivalent to resistance. This effort there- fore, like the former one, proved barren : most of them answered with a qualified refusal; twenty of them ^ signed a written reply on July 14, which, while it pledged an unchangeable continuance of their loyalty, set forth a num- ber of mixed and inconsequential reasons against adopting the President's recommenda- tion. They thought the project too expensive. They said slavery was a right which they ought not to be asked to relinquish, that the propo- sition had never been offered them in a tangi- ble shape, that a different policy had been announced at the beginning of the war, that radical doctrines had been proclaimed and subversive measures proposed in Congress. In short, it was a general plea for non-action. Seven others'^ of their number drew up an ad- dress dissenting from the conservative views of the majority, and promising that " We will, as far as may be in our power, ask the people of the border States calmly, deliberately, and fairly to consider your recommendations." Two others'^ wrote separate replies in the same spirit; but with only a minority to urge the proposi- tion upon their people, it was plain from the first that no hope of success could be entertained. EMANCIPATION PROPOSED AND POSTPONED. Military events underwent great fluctua- tions in the first half of the year 1862. During the first three months Union victories followed each other with a rapidity and decisiveness which inspired the most sanguine hopes for the 1 From Kentucky, Senator Garrett Davis and Rep- resentatives Henry Grider, Aaron Harding, Charles A. Wickliffe, George W. Dunlap, Robert Mallory, John J. Crittenden, John W. Menzies, and James S. Jackson; from Missouri, Senator Robert Wilson and Represen- tatives James S. Rollins, William A. Hall, Thomas L. Price, and John S. Phelps ; from Maryland, Repre- sentatives John W. Crisfield, Edwin H. Webster, Cor- nelius L. L. Leary, Francis Thomas, and Charles B. Calvert; from Virginia, Senator John S. Carlile. early and complete suppression of the rebellion. Cheering news of important successes came from all quarters — Mill Springs in Kentucky, Roanoke Island in North Carolina, Forts Henry and Donelson in Tennessee, Pea Ridge in Ar- kansas, Shiloh in Tennessee, Island No. 10 in the Mississippi River, the reduction of Forts Jackson and St. Philip on the lower Mississippi, the capture of New Orleans in Louisiana, and, finally, what seemed the beginning of a victori- ous advance by McClellan's army upon Rich- mond. In the month of May, however, this tide of success began to change. Stonewall Jackson's raid initiated a series of discouraging Union defeats, and McClellan's formidable advance gradually changed into disastrous retreat. No one noted this blighting of a longed-for fruition with a keener watchfulness and more sensitive suffering than did President Lincoln. As the military interest and expectancy gradu- ally lessened at the circumference and slowly centered itself upon the fatal circles around the rebel capital, his thoughts by day and anxiety by night fed upon the intelligence which the telegraph brought from the Union camps on the Chickahominy and the James. It is safe to say that no general in the army studied his maps and scanned his telegrams with half the industry — -and, it may be added, with half the intelligence — which Mr. Lincoln gave to his. It is not surprising, therefore, that before the catastrophe finally came the President was al- ready convinced of the substantial failure of McClellan's campaign as first projected, tho-ugh he still framed his letters and telegrams in the most hopeful and encouraging language that the situation would admit. But aware of the impending danger, he took steps to secure such a reenforcement of the army, and provide for such a readjustment of the campaign, as might yet secure the final and complete victory which had lain so teniptingly within McClellan's grasp. A part of this programme was the con- solidation of an army under Pope. The culmi- nation of disaster doubtless came sooner than bethought possible. McClellan himself did not seem apprehensive of sudden danger when on- June 26 he telegraphed : The case is perhaps a difficult one, but I shall resort to desperate measures, and will do my best to outmaneuver, outwit, and outfight the enemy. Do not believe reports of disaster, and do not be discour- 2 From Missouri, Representative John W. Noell ; from Kentucky, Representative Samuel L. Casey; from Tennessee, Representative AndreM^ J. Clem- ents ; from Delaware, Representative George P. Fisher ; from Virginia, Senator Waiteman T. Willey and Representatives William G. Brown and Jacob B. Blair. 3 Senator John B. Henderson of Missouri and Rep- resentative Horace Maynard of Tennessee. FIRST FLANS FOR EMANCIFATION. 289 aged if you learn that my communications are cut off, and even Yorktown in possession of the enemy. Hope for the best, and I will not deceive the hopes you formerly placed in me.l This was the language of a man still possess- ing courage and faith, but the events of the two days following robbed him of both. Early on the morning of the 28th he sent the Secre- tary of War his memorable telegram already quoted, which was a mere blind cry of despair and insubordination : I have not a man in reserve, and shall be glad to cover my retreat and save the material and personnel of the army. ... If I save this army now, I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or to any other persons in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army. The kind and patient words with which President Lincoln replied to this unsoldierly and unmanly petulance, and the vigorous ex- ertions put forth by the War Department to mitigate the danger with all available supplies and reenforcements, have been related. The incident is repeated here to show that the President and Cabinet promptly put into exe- cution a measure which had probably been already debated during the preceding days. The needs of the hour, and Lincoln's plan to provide for them, cannot be more briefly stated than in the two letters which follow, the first of which, written on this 28th day of June, he addressed to his Secretary of State. It was evidently written in a moment of profound emotion produced by McClellan's telegram, for nowhere in all his utterances is there to be found a stronger announcement of his de- termination to persevere unfalteringly in the public and patriotic task before him : JVly view of the present condition of the war is about as follows : The evacuation of Corinth and our delay by the flood in the Chickahominy have enabled the enemy to concentrate too much force in Richmond for McClellan to successfully attack, hi fact, there soon will be no substantial rebel force any- where else. But if we send all the force from here to McClellan, the enemy will, before we can know of it, send a force from Richmond and take Wash- ington. Or if a large part of the Western army be brought here to McClellan, they will let us have Richmond, and retake Tennessee, Kentucky, Mis- souri, etc. What should be done is to hold what we have in the West, open the Mississippi, and take Chattanooga and east Tennessee without more. A reasonable force should, in every event, be kept about Washington for its protection. Then let the country give us a hundred thousand new troops in the shortest possible time, which, added to McClel- lan directly or indirectly, will take Richmond with- out endangering any other place which we now hold, and will substantially end the war, I expect 1 McClellan to Stanton, June 26, 1862, 12 M. War Records. 2 Unpublished MS. Vol. XXXVIL— 40. to maintain this contest until successful, or till I die, or am conquered, or my term expires, or Congress or the country forsake me ; and I would publicly appeal to the country for this new force, were it not that I fear a general panic and stampede would follow, so hard is it to have a thing understood as it really is. I think the new force should be all, or nearly all, infantry, principally because such can be raised most cheaply and quickly. 2 This letter was of course not needed for the personal information of Mr. Seward, but was placed in his hands to enable him to reassure those who might doubt the President's courage and determination. The other letter, written in advance and dated the 30th, was addressed to the governors of the loyal States. It ran as follows : The capture of New Orleans, Norfolk, and Cor- inth by the National forces has enabled the in- surgents to concentrate a large force at and about Richmond, which place we must take with the least possible delay ; in fact, there will soon be no formidable insurgent force except at Richmond. With so large an army there the enemy can threaten us on the Potomac and elsewhere. Until we have reestablished the National authority, all these places must be held, and we must keep a respectable force in front of Washington. But this, from the dimin- ished strength of our army by sickness and casual- ties, renders an addition to it necessary in order to close the struggle which has been prosecuted for the last three months with energy and success. Rather than herald the misapprehension of our military con- dition and of groundless alarm by a call for troops by proclamation, I have deemed it best to address you in this form. To accomplish the object stated, we require, without delay, one hundred and fifty thousand. men, including those recently called for by the Secretary of War. Thus reenforced, our gallant army will be enabled to realize the hopes and expec- tations of the Government and the people. 2 Armed with these letters, Mr. Seward pro- ceeded hastily to New York City. The brief correspondence which ensued indicates the progressive steps and success of his mission. On this same 30th of June he telegraphed from New York to Secretary Stanton : Am getting a foundation for an increase of one hundred and fifty thousand. Shall have an impor- tant step to communicate to-night or to-morrow morning. Governors Morgan and Curtin here, and communicate with others by telegraph. Let me have reliable information when convenient, as it steadies my operations. . . . Will you authorize me to promise an advance to recruits of ^25 of the §100 t)ounty ? It is thought here and in Massachusetts that without such payment recruiting will be very difficult, and with it probably entirely successful.- To this the Secretary of War replied on the following day : The existing law does not authorize an advance of the bounty. . . . Discreet persons here sug- gest that the call should be for 300,000 men, — double the number you propose, — as the waste will 290 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. be large. Consider the matter. The President has not come into town yet ; when he arrives you will receive his answer. Later in the day he added to the above : The President approves your plan, but suggests 200,000, if it can be done as well as the number you mention. 1 It is probable that a further discussion, and perhaps also further information of the disaster and despondency on the Peninsula, brought more fully to the minds of President and Sec- retary of War the gravity of the crisis and the need of decisive action ; for Mr. Stanton sent a third telegram to Mr. Seward, saying : Your telegram received. 1 will take the responsi- bility of ordering the §25 bounty out of the nine mill- ions [appropriation] at all hazards, and you may go on that basis. I will make and telegraph the order in an hour. The President's answer has already gone.l Mr. Seward's answer to this was all that could be desired under the circumstances : The Governors respond, and the Union Commit- tee approve earnestly and unanimously. . . Let the President make the order, and let both papers come out [in] to-morrow morning's papers, if possi- ble. The number of troops to be called is left to the President to fix. No one proposes less than 200,000 ; make it 300,000 if you wish. They say it may be 500,000 if the President desires. Get the ^25 advance fixed, and let the terms be made known. 1 Accordingly, on the morning of July 2 there appeared in the newspapers a formal corre- spondence, purporting to be the voluntary re- quest of eighteen governors of loyal States to the President, that you at once call upon the several States for such numbers of men as may be required to fill up all military organizations now in the field, and add to the army heretofore organized such additional numbers of men as may, in your judgment, be neces- sary to garrison and hold all of the numerous cities and military positions that have been captured by our armies. . . . All believe that the decisive moment is near at hand, and to that end the peo- ple of the United States are desirous to aid promptly in furnishing all reenforcements that you may deem needful to sustain our Government. To which the President's reply announced : Gentlemen : Fully concurring in the wisdom of the views expressed to me in so patriotic a manner by you in the communication of the 28th day of June, I have decided to call into the service an ad- ditional force of 300,000 men. " It was thought safest to mark high enough," 1 said Mr. Lincoln in a private telegram to Gov- ernor Morgan of New York; while in another private circular to all the governors he ex- plained his desire a little more fully. 1 Unpublished MS. I should not want the half of 300,000 new troops if I could have them now. If I had 50,006 addi- tional troops here now, 1 believe I could substan- tially close the war in two weeks. But time is everything ; and if I get 50,000 new men in a month I shall have lost 20,000 old ones during the same month, having gained only 30,000, with the differ- ence between old and new troops still against me. The quicker you send, the fewer you will have to send. Time is everything; please act in view of this. The enemy having given up Corinth, it is not wonderful that he is thereby enabled to check us for a time at Richmond.! It was doubtless the sudden collapse of Mc- Clellan's Richmond campaign which brought President Lincoln to the determination to adopt his policy of general military emancipa- tion much sooner than he would otherwise have done. The necessity of a comprehensive rearrangement of military affairs was upon him, and it was but natural that it should involve a revision of political policy. The immediate present was provided for in the call just issued for 300,000 volunteers; but he had learned by experience that he must count new possibilities of delays and defeats, and that his determina- tion, so recently recorded, to " maintain this contest " to ultimate triumph, compelled him to open new sources of military strength. He recognized, and had often declared, that in a republic the talisman which wrought the wonders of statesmanship and the changes of national destiny was public opinion. We now know that in the use of this tahsman he was the most consummate master whose skill history has recorded. We are justified in the inference that his foresight had perceived and estimated the great and decisive ele- ment ' of military strength which lay as yet untouched and unappropriated in the slave population of the South. To its use, how- ever, there existed two great obstacles — prej- udice on the part of the whites, the want of a motive on the part of the blacks. His problem was to remove the one and to supply the other. For the first of these difficulties the time was specially propitious in one re- spect. In the momentary check and embar- rassment of all the armies of the Union, gen- erals, soldiers, and conservative politicians would tolerate reprisal upon rebels with for- bearance if not with favor ; and for their con- sent to the full military employment of the blacks he might trust to the further change of popular sentiment, the drift of which was already so manifest. The motive which would call the slaves to the active help of the Union armies lay ready made for his use — indeed, it had been in steadily increasing action from the beginning of hostilities till now, as far and as effectively as the Government would per- mit. FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION. 291 McClellan's change of base occurred about the ist of July, 1862. Lincoln's final appeal to the border States took place shortly after- ward, on July 12 ; and his vivid portrayal of the inevitable wreck of slavery in the stress of war doubtless gathered color and force from recent military events. Already, before the border-State delegations gave him their written replies, he knew from their words and bearing that they would in effect refuse the generous tender of compensation ; and he decided in his own mind that he would at an early day give notice of his intention to emancipate the slaves of rebellious States by military proclamation. His first confidential announcement of the new departure occurred on the day following his interview with the border-State representatives, and is thus recorded in the diary of Secretary Welles : On Sunday, the 13th of July, 1862, President Lincoln invited me to accompany him in his car- riage to the funeral of an infant child of Mr. Stanton. Secretary Seward and Mrs. Frederick Seward were also in the carriage. Mr. Stanton occupied at that time, for a summer residence, the house of a naval officer, I think Hazzard, some two or three miles west or north-westerly of Georgetown. It was on this occasion and on this ride that he first men- tioned to Mr. Seward and myself the subject of eman- cipating the slaves by proclamation in case the rebels did not cease to persist in their war on the Government and the Union, of which he saw no evidence. He dwelt earnestly on the gravity, im- portance, and delicacy of the movement; said he had given it much thought, and had about come to the conclusion that it was a military necessity, ab- solutely essential for the salvation of the nation, that we must free the slaves or be ourselves subdued, etc., etc. This was, he said, the first occasion where he had mentioned the subject to any one, and wished us to frankly state how the proposition struck us. Mr. Seward said the subject involved con- sequences so vast and momentous that he should wish to bestow on it mature reflection before giving a decisive answer ; but his present opinion inclined to the measure as justifiable, and perhaps he might say expedient and necessary. These were also my views. Two or three times on that ride the subject, which was of course an absorbing one for each and all, was adverted to, and before separating, the Pres- ident desired us to give the subject special and de- liberate attention, for he was earnest in the conviction that something must be done. It was a new depart- ure for the President, for until this time, in all our previous interviews, whenever the question of eman- 1 War Department, Washington, July 22, 1862. First. Ordered that military commanders within the States of Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, and Arkansas in an orderly manner seize and use any property, real or personal, which may be necessary or convenient for their several commands, for supplies, or for other mili- tary purposes ; and that while pro])crty may be de- stroyed for proper military objects, none shall be de- stroyed in wantonness or malice. cipation or the mitigation of slavery had been in any way alluded to, he had been prompt and em- phatic in denouncing any interference by the Gen- eral Government with the subject. This was, I think, the sentiment of every member of the Cabinet, all of whom, including the President, considered it a local domestic question appertaining to the States respectively who had never parted with their au- thority over it. But the reverses before Richmond, and the formidable power and dimensions of the in- surrection, which extended through all the slave States and had combined most of them in a confederacy to destroy the Union, impelled the Administration to adopt extraordinary measures to preserve the national existence. The slaves, if not armed and disciplined, were in the service of those who were, not only as field laborers and producers, but thousands of them were in attendance upon the armies in the field, em- ployed as waiters and teamsters, and the fortifica- tions and intrenchments were constructed by them. Within the next four days Congress finished its business and adjourned, the Confiscation Act being an important part of its final work. The President, as we have seen, signed the bill with its amendatory resolution, and the Gov- ernment was thus brought face to face with the practical duty of enforcing its provisions through military directions and orders in fur- ther detail. It has been explained how the Confiscation Act and other laws broadened and multiplied the forfeitures of title to slaves for the crimes of treason and rebellion. We have the evidence of the President's written com- ments that he considered these penalties just and the imposition of them constitutional. In the administration of the laws thus enacted there therefore remained to be examined only the convenience of their practical enforcement and the general effect upon public opinion of the policy they established. . We have no record of the specific reasoning of President Lincoln upon these points. We only know that within the five days following the adjournment of Congress (July 17 to July 22, 1862) his mind reached its final conclusions. The diary of Secretary Chase contains the fol- lowing record of what occurred at the Cabinet meeting at the Executive Mansion on July 21 : I went at the appointed hour, and found that the President had been profoundly concerned at the present aspect of affairs, and had determined to take some definite steps in respect to military action and slavery. He had prepared several orders, l the hrst Second. That military and naval commanders shall employ as laborers, within and from said States, so many persons of African descent as can be advantageously used for military or naval purposes, giving them rea- sonable wages for their labor. Third. That as to both property and persons of Af- rican descent, accounts shall be kept sufficiently accu- rate and in detail to show quantities and amounts, and from whom both property and such persons shall have come, as a basis upon which compensation can be made in proper cases; and the several departments of 292 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. of which contemplated authority to commanders to subsist their troops in the hostile territory ; the second, authority to employ negroes as laborers ; the third, requiringthat both in the case of property taken and of negroes employed accounts should be kept with such degree of certainty as would enable compensation to be made in proper cases. Another provided for the colonization of negroes in some tropical country. A good deal of discussion took place upon these points. The first order was uni- versally approved. The second was approved en- tirely, and the third by all except myself. I doubted the expediency of attempting to keep account for the benefit of the inhabitants of rebel States. The colonization project was not much discussed. The Secretary of War presented some letters from Gen- eral Hunter, in which he advised the department that the withdrawal of a large proportion of his troops to reenforce General McClellan rendered it highly important that he should be immediately authorized to enlist all loyal persons, without refer- ence to complexion. Messrs. Stanton, Seward, and myself expressed ourselves in favor of this plan, and no one expressed himself against it. (Mr. Blair was not present.) The President was not prepared to decide the question, but expressed himself as averse to arming negroes. 1 This Cabinet discussion came to no final con- clusion, and we learn from the same diary that on the following day, Tuesday, July 22, 1862,— which was regular Cabinet day,™ the subject was resumed. Further conference was had on organizing negro regiments, but Lincoln decided that the moment had not yet arrived when this policy could be safely entered upon. Writes Chase : The impression left upon my mind by the whole discussion was, that while the President thought that the organization, equipment, and arming of negroes like other soldiers would be productive of more evil than good, he was hot unwilling that com- manders should, at their discretion, arm, for purely defensive purposes, slaves coming within their lines. But on the kindred policy of emancipation the President had reached a decision which ap- pears to have been in advance of the views of his entire Cabinet. Probably greatly to their surprise, he read to them the following draft of a proclamation warning the rebels of the pains and penalties of the Confiscation Act, and while renq^vving his tender of compensa- tion to loyal States which would adopt gradual abolishment, adding a summary military order, as Commander-in-Chief, declaring free the slaves of all States which might be in rebellion on January i, 1863. The text of this first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation is here printed for the first time : this Government shall attend to and perform their ap- propriate parts towards the execution of these orders. By order of the President, Edwin M. '^'VKHTg^, Secretary of War. 1 Warden, " Life of S. P. Chase," p. 439. In pursuance of the sixth section of the act of Congress entitled, ''An act to suppress insurrection and to punish treason and rebellion, to seize and confiscate property of rebels, and for other purposes," approved July 17, 1862, and which act and the joint resolution explanatory thereof are herewith published, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, do hereby proclaim to and warn all persons within the contemplation of said sixth sec- tion to cease participating in, aiding, countenancing, or abetting the existing rebellion, or any rebellion against the Government of the United States, and to return to their proper allegiance to the United States, on pain of the forfeitures and seizures, as within and by said sixth section provided. And I hereby make known that it is my purpose, upon the next meeting of Congress, to again recom- mend the adoption of a practical measure for tender- ing pecuniary aid to the free choice or rejection of any and all States, which may then be recogniz- ing and practically sustaining the authority of the United States, and which may then have volun- tarily adopted, or thereafter may voluntarily adopt, gradual abolishment of slavery within such State or States; that the object is to practically restore, thenceforward to be maintained, the constitutional relation between the General Government and each and all the States wherein that relation is now sus- pended or disturbed ; and that for this object the war, as it has been, will be prosecuted. And as a fit and necessary mihfary measure for effecting this object, I, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, do order and declare that on the first day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or States wherein the constitutional authority of the United States shall not then be practically recognized, sub- mitted to and maintained, shall then, thenceforward, and forever be free.^ Of the Cabinet proceedings which followed the red,ding of this momentous document we have unfortunately only very brief memoranda. Every member of the council was, we may in- fer, bewildered by the magnitude and boldness of the proposal. The sudden consideration of this critical question reveals to us with vivid- ness the difterence in mental reach, readiness, and decision between the President and his constitutional advisers. Only two of the num- ber gave the measure their unreserved concur- rence, even after discussion. It is strange that one of these was the cautious Attorney-Gen- eral, the representative of the conservative faction of the slaveholding State of Missouri, and that the member who opposed the meas- ure as a whole, and proposed to achieve the result indirectly through the scattered and di- vided action of local commanders in military departments, was the antislavery Secretary 2 The indorsement on the above paper, also in Lin- coln's own handwriting, is as follows : " Emancipation proclamation as first sketched and shown to the Cabi- net in July, 1862." The diary of Secretary Chase shows the exact date to have been July 22, 1862. FIRST PLANS FOR EMANCIPATION. 293 of the Treasury, Mr. Chase, representing per- haps more nearly than any other the abohtion faction of tlie free State of Ohio. All were as- tonished, except the two to whom it had been mentioned a week before. None of the others had even considered such a step. But from the mind and will of President Lincoln the determination and announcement to his Cabi- net came almost as complete in form and cer- tain in intention on that memorable Tuesday of July as when, two months later, it was given to the public, or as officially proclaimed on the succeeding New Year's Day, an irrevocable executive act. A fragmentary memorandum in the hand- writing of Secretary Stanton shows us distinctly the effect produced upon the assembled coun- cil. The manuscript is here reproduced as nearly as the types conveniently permit. The very form of the record shows the Secretary's strong emotion and interest in the discussion : Tuesday, July 22. The President proposes to issue an order declaring that, all Slaves in states in rebellion on the day of The Attorney-General and Stanton are for its im- mediate promulgation. Seward against it ; argues strongly in favor of cotton and foreign governments. Chase silent. Welles Seward argues That foreign nations will inter- vene to prevent the abolition of slavery for sake of cotton. Argues in a long speech against its imme- diate promulgation. Wants to wait for troops. Wants Halleck here. Wants drum and fife and public spirit. We break up our relations with for- eign nations and the production of cotton for sixty years. Chase— — -Thinks it a measure of great danger, and would lead to universal emancipation— —The meas- ure goes beyond anything 1 have recom.mended. The omissions in this bit of historical manu- script are exceedingly provoking, but some of them are supplied by President Lincoln's own narrative, recorded and pubhshed by the artist Carpenter, whose application for permission to paint his historical picture of the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation called it forth : 'Mthadgottobe,"-saidhe [Mr. Lincoln]," midsum- mer, 1862. Things had gone on from bad to worse, until I felt that we had reached the end of our rope on the plan of operations we had been pursuing ; that we had about played our last card, and must change our tactics, or lose the game. I now deter- mined upon the adoption of the emancipation pol- 1 Carpenter, "Six Months at the White House," pp. 20-23. 2 On this point the President is reported as saying : " Secretary Chase wished the language stronger in reference to the arming of the blacks." (Carpenter, " Six Months at the White. House," p. 21.) If these were his words, his memory was slightly at fault. icy; and without consultation with, or the knowl- edge of, the Cabinet, I prepared the original draft of the proclamation, and, after much anxious thought, called a Cabinet meeting upon the subject. . . . All were present excepting Mr. Blair, the Postmas- ter-General, who was absent at the opening of the discussion, but came in subsequently. I said to the Cabinet that I had resolved upon this step, and had not called them together to ask their advice, but to lay the subject-matter of a proclamation before them, suggestions as to whicli would be in order after they had heard it read. Mr. Lovejoy was in error when he informed you that it excited no comment excepting on the part of Secretary Seward. Various suggestions were offered."! At this point we interrupt the President's relation a moment to quote in its proper se- quence the exact comment offered by Secretary Chase,^ as recorded in his .diary : I [Chase] said that 1 should give to such a meas- ure my cordial support, but I should prefer that no new expression on the subject of compensation should be made ; and I thought that the measure of emancipation could be much better and more quietly accomplished by allowing generals to organ- ize and arm the slaves (thus avoiding depredation and massacre on one hand, and support to the in- surrection on the other), and by directing the com- manders of departments to proclaim emancipation within their districts as soon as practicable. But I regarded this as so much better than inaction on the subject, that I should give it my entire support. ^ The President's narrative continues : ''Mr. Blair, after became in, deprecated the policy on the ground that it would cost the Administration the fall elections. Nothing, however, was offered that 1 had not fully anticipated and settled in my own mind until Secretary Seward spoke; He said in substance, 'Mr. President, I approve of the proc- lamation, but I question the expediency of its issue at this juncture. The depression of the public mind, consequent upon our repeated reverses, is so great that I fear the effect of so important a step, it may be viewed as the last measure of an exhausted gov- ernment, aery for help ; the Government stretching forth its hands to Ethiopia, instead of Ethiopia stretching forth her hands to the Government.' His idea," said the President, "was that it would be con- sidered our last shriek, on the retreat. [This was his precise expression.] ' Now,' continued Mr. Seward, ' while I approve the measure, 1 suggest, sir, that you postpone its issue until you can give it to the country supported by military success, in- stead of issuing it, as would be the case now, upon the greatest disasters of the war.'" Mr. Lincoln continued : " The wisdom of the view of the Secre- tary of State struck me Vv'ith very great force. It was an aspect of the case that, in all my thought upon the subject, I had entirely overlooked. The There was nothing in the proposed proclamation of emancipation about arming the blacks. That branch of the discussion, while it occurred at the same time, had exclusive reference to the military order quoted on page 291, also then under consideration. 3 Warden, " Life of S. P. Chase," p. 440. 294 ''MINC'—A PLOT. result was that I put the draft of the proclamation aside, as you do your sketch for a picture, waiting for victory." Instead of the proclamation thus laid away, a short one was issued three days after, simply containing the warning required by the sixth section of the Confiscation Act. The already quoted military order to make seizures under the act had been issued on the day when the proclamation was discussed and postponed; meanwhile the Government, by its new military arrangements, sending reenforcements to Mc- Clellan, organizing a new army under Pope, and calling Halleck from the West to exercise a superior and guiding control over a com- bined campaign towards Richmond, seemed to have provided the needful requirements for early and substantigj success. "MINC"— A PLOT. By the author of " Two Runaways," " Sister Todhunter's Heart," " De Valley an' de Shadder," etc. HE trim litde steamboat that plies Lake Harris, the love- liest of all Florida waters, emerged from the pictur- esque avenue of cypress and trailing moss called Dead River, which leads out of Eustis, and glided as a shadow betwixt sea and sky towards its harbor, fourteen miles away. It had been the perfec- tion of a May day, and the excursionists, wea- ried at last of sight-seeing, were gathered upon the forward deck. The water-slopes of the highlands on the right, with their dark lines of orange-trees and their nestling cottages, lay restful in the evening shadow fast stretching out towards the boat, for the sun was dipping below the horizon with the stately pines in silhouette upon his broad red face. "Home, Sweet Home," " Old Kentucky Home," and " Old Folks at Home" had been rendered by the singers of the party with that queer mixt- ure of pathos and bathos so inseparably con- nected with excursion songs, and a species of nothing-else-to-be-done silence settled over the group, broken only by the soft throb of the en- gine and the swish of dividing waters. Sud- denly some one began a dissertation upon negro songs, and by easy stages the conversation drifted to negro stories. Among the excursion- ists sat a gray-haired, tall, soldierly looking gen- tleman whom every one called " Colonel," and whose kindly eyes beamed out from under his soft felt hat in paternal friendliness upon all. " It is somewhat singular," he said at length, when there had come a lull in the conversation, "that none of the story- writers have ever dealt with the negro as a resident of two continents. Why could not a good story be written, the scene laid partly in Africa and partly in the South ? I am not familiar enough with the lit- erature of this kind and the romances that have been written about our darkies to say positively that it has not been already done, l3ut it seems to me that the opportunity to de- velop a character from the savage to the civ- ilized state is very fine and would take well. Victor Hugo has a negro in one of his West India- romances whose name I forget now — the story used to be familiar — " " Bug-Jargal," suggested some one. "So it was. But in this reference is made only to the man's ancestry; and I never thought the character true to life. Hugo did not know the negro." " But, Colonel, is it not true that these peo- ple were the veriest savages, and would it not be too great a strain upon the realistic ideas of the day to venture into Africa for a hero, especially since Rider Haggard has ideal- ized it ? " " I don't think so. We have no way of ascer- taining j ust how much the imported slaves really knew, but it is a fact that a few were remarka- ble for some kind of skill and intelligence. They were not communicative, and soon drifted into the dialect of their new neighbors, forgetting their ov/n. I had a negro on my plantation who undoubtedly came from Africa. I was present when my father bought him upon the streets of Savannah, becoming interested in his story soon after he was landed. His mother ''MINC'—A PLOT, 295 was described as a sort of priestess — or, as we say, a Voodoo — in her native land, which was near the western coast of Africa, some twelve hundred miles north of Cape of Good Hope. Her influence for evil, it seems, was so remark- able that as soon as possible she was separated from the cargo and sent on to one of the Gulf ports. This fellow was then probably about thirty years old— a little, jet-black man with small, bright eyes of remarkable brilliancy. He seemed very glad to go with us, and, I may add, never at any time afterwards did he ever give trouble, but did readily what was required of him. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and his love — I say love, for I be- lieve it was genuine affection — - gradually ex- tended to all white children. For children of his own color — I won't say race, for in many respects he differed from the ordinary negro — he entertained the liveliest disgust. Now a story- writer could take that slave and with the help I might give him -— his life with us, his peculiarities, powers, certain singular coinci- dences, and the manner of his death— -weave a very interesting romance." " O Colonel, do tell us the story ! " The appeal came in the shape of a chorus from the ladies present, and was at once reenforced by the others. A pair of sweethearts who had been leaning over the bow came slowly back on hearing it, and added their solicitations. The genial old gentleman laughed and looked out upon the waters. " I did not know I was spreading a net for my own feet," he saido " The story of this fellow would require half a night, even were I able to put it in shape, but I can give a rough out- line of some features of it. '• Mine,' as he was called, though his name as near as I can imi- tate his pronunciation was ' Meeng'r,' — -Mine was for a long time a sort of elephant on the family's hands. My mother was a little afraid of him, I think, and the negroes themselves never did entirely overcome their respect for him enough to treat him exactly as one of them, although, as I have intimated, he was perfectly harmless. " Mine, however, one day exhibited a strange power over animals which is even now a mys- tery to me. He could take a drove of hogs and by a series of queer little sounds, half grunts, half groans, reduce them to submission and drive them where he would. Gradually, as the rules for feeding and taking care of them became known to him, he was given charge of the plantation hogs, of which there were five or six hundred, and no small responsibility it was. I remember he at once fashioned him a little instrument from the horn of a yearling ; with this he could go into the swamp and by a few notes thereon call them up on the run. That one horn lasted him all his life, and he was with us thirty odd years. He used to wear it hung round his neck by a string, and it was the one possession that the children could not get away from him for even a mo- ment. I think that probably some superstition restrained him. " Another queer power possessed by Mine was in connection with grasshoppers. I have seen him hundreds of times go into the orchard where the crab grass was tall, and standing perfectly still give forth from his chest a musi- cal humming sound. If there were any big brown grasshoppers within hearing they would fly up, dart about and light upon him. Some- times he would let me stand by him, and then the grasshoppers would come to me also ; but Mine could catch them without any trouble, while any movement from my hand drove them oft'. Mine," continued the speaker, laugh- ing softly, " used to eat the things,"-— excla- mations from the ladies, — " and I am told that certain tribes in Africa are very fond of them." " Boiled in a bag and eaten with salt they are not bad," said a young gentleman with the reputation of having been everywhere. " I have eaten what was probably the same insect, though under the name of locusts," (More exclamations.) "Why not ? " he added in de- fense. " Can anything be worse to look upon than shrimps ? " " Well," continued the Colonel, " I soon broke Mine of eating them. The grasshoppers were my favorite bait for fish, and Mine developed into a most successful angler, quite abandoning his cane spear — though, by the way, he was as certain of a victim when he struck as was a fish- hawk. I think the plantation rations also had something to do with his change of diet. " Well, as Mine's queer powers came to be known he was not greatly sought after by the other negroes. They are slow to speak of their superstitions, but it soon developed that they regarded him as being in league with spirits. He lived in a little cabin down on the creek apart from the others, and there was my favorite haunt, for I was more than delighted with Mine's accomplishments, and Mine was rapidly learning from me the use of many words, which gave me a sort of proprietary in- terest in him. In time he came to speak as well as the average negro, but he had a way of running his words together when excited that made him all but unintelligible. I never did get much information from him concerning his former life. He did n't seem to be able to convert terms well enough to express himself He had lived near great swamps, ate fish, was familiar with the hog — this much I gleaned; and from time to time he would recognize 296 ''MINC'—A PLOT. birds and animals and excitedly give me what were evidently their names in his own country. Of course this all came to me at odd times from year to year, and did not make a great impression. I remember, though, that reference to his capture had always a depressing effect upon him, and at such times he would go off about his work. I suppose the memory of his mother was the cause of this; and I soon found that to speak to him of the matter would cost me Mine's company, and so I quit bringing up the subject. " The things in connection with Mine that puzzled me more were his superstitions. Doubt- less they were taught him by his mother, and the first intimation of them I had was when he caught a gopher, and with a bit of wire ground to an exceedingly fine point cut on its shell a number of curious signs, or hiero- glyphics, different from anything I had ever seen, except that there was a pretty fair repre- sentation of the sun. He then took this gopher back to where he found it and turned him loose at the entrance of his burrow, making gestures indicating that the gopher was going far down into the earth. He did something of this kind for every gopher he caught. One day he succeeded in snaring a green-head duck, and upon its broad bill he carved more hieroglyphics. This done, to my astonishment, and probably to the duck's also, he tossed the bird high in the air and laughed as it sped away. As the years went by I saw him treat many birds after the same fashion. If there was room for only one or two figures he would put them on, and let the bird go. But as he grew older Mine ate the large majority of his captures, just as any other negro would. ''• Well, many years passed away ; I grew up and married. By this time Mine was long since a feature of the plantation. My children in time took my place with him, and many 's the ride he gave them in his little two-wheel cart behind the oxen. I should have said be- fore that he used to haul corn to the hogs when in distant fields, and wood for the house- fires on the way back. The negroes no longer feared him, but the negro children would run past his wagon as he plodded along and sing : <01e Unc' Mine Unner th' hill, His eyes stick out Like tater hill. Juba dis and Juba dat, JLiba roun' de kitch'n fat, — Juba ketch er — er — ' " Oh, well, I forget how the rhyme ran; but Mine would stop every time and hurl a string of words at them which no one could ever ex- actly translate; and the Httle brats, delighted at having provoked the outburst, would kick up their heels and scamper off". But along in the war," continued the Colonel, after yielding a moment to a quiet shake of his sides over the recollections trooping up, " Mine filled another office. It was found that by means of a notched stick, scarcely two feet in length, he could keep books, so to say, as well as anybody. I can't, and never will, I reckon, fathom the fellow's sys- tem. He often tried to explain it ; but when he had finished, you would know just about what you knew at first and be a little confused as to that. But he never was known to make a mis- take. Sent into the fields, he would weigh cot- ton for forty pickers all day and report at night just what each picked in the morning and even- ing and the sum of all — and all by means of his notches. I am absolutely sure he brought the system from Africa, for no one ever was able to understand it on the plantation, and Mine never lived a day off it. You will see the relation these incidents bear to my first proposition as to imported negroes being sim- ply savages. " The death of Mine was tragic and surround- ed by some remarkable circumstances, and here again comes the story- writer's field. Two years before his death Mine had caught and tamed a little cooter^ about twice the size of a silver dollar. He would hum a queer little tune for his pet, and the thing would walk around the floor for all the world as if he was trying to dance. Then he would come when called, and was particularly fond of sleeping in Mine's dark jacket-pocket, where I suspect he found crumbs. Mine would sometimes throw him into the creek just in front of his cabin, but the little thing would scramble out and get back to the hut again if Mine was in sight ; if not, he staid in an eddy close by. You will understand directly why I speak so particularly of this. As the cooter grew larger. Mine amused himself by cutting hieroglyphics all over its back. Into these lines he rubbed dyes of his own manufacture, and the result was a very varie- gated cooter. The old man carried him almost continually in his pocket; partly, I think, be- cause the animal's antics always amused the children, and partly because he was the cause of Mine's getting many a biscuit. He would frequently come to the house, and sitting on the back porch make ' Teeta,' as he called the cooter, ^o through with his tricks. These gener- ally resulted in Mine's getting biscuit or cake for Teeta, and by his lying down and letting the animal crawl into his pocket after it, a feat that closed the performance. "Well, one day Mine was missing. Every- thing about his cabin was in order, but he did 1 " Cooler," the common name in the South for a species of turtle inhabiting lagoons and streams. ''ONCE. WHEN A CHILD. 297 not return. He never did return. Search was made, of course, and he was finally given up. The negroes dragged the creek, but not with much expectation of finding him, for I am afraid that some of them believed that Old Nick had taken him bodily. But a month afterwards my oldest boy was hunting in the big swamp for the hogs, which had become badly scattered since Mine's death, when in crossing a tree that had fallen over one of the many lagoons thereabout who should he see sitting there but Teeta, watching him with his keen little black eyes, the patch of sunhght he had chosen bringing out the tattoo marks upon his shell. The next instant Teeta dived off the log and disappearedo Tom came home and told of his adventured Taking a party of negroes, I returned with him and dragged the lagoon. Just where the cooter had dived we found the body of poor old Mine. He had fallen off the log, and becoming entangled in the sunken branches had drowned. And in the rotting pocket of his old jacket we found the cooter hid away." The Colonel raised his hand as exclama- tions broke from the party. " No ; you must let me finish. The finding of the cooter was not the most singular thing connected with the death of Mine. Upon our return home one of the superstitious negroes, greatly to my distress, cut off Teeta's head. He wanted it to place it under his doorstep. This was to protect the place from old Mine, of course ; but I had the shell cleaned, and the children kept it as a memento of the faithful old slave whom they had dearly loved. " Relating this story once to an eminent traveler," continued the Colonel, " he sug- gested that I should send it to the British Museum with its history written out; and going to New York soon after, I carried it with me. It lay forgotten, however, in my trunk, and I did not notice it again until one day I happened to be in New Orleans. There was then in that city an aged negress claiming to be a Voodoo, and creating considerable stir among the Northern attendants upon Mardi- Gras. I don't know what suggested it, but it occurred to me one day that I would let her look at the shell. It was a mere fancy, or im- pulse, if you will. I carried it to her. She was indeed an old woman, small in stature and bent nearly double. Without speaking a word, I placed the shell in her hand. She gave one long, fixed look at it, and straightened up a-s if casting oft" the weight of half a century. Her lips parted, but she could not speak. Then her form resumed its crook again, and placing her hand against the small of her back, she gasped for breath. With her bright black eyes fixed upon me she said at last, after a violent strug- gle,' Meeng'r!' It was a mere whisper. I spent an hour with the poor old creature and told her the story of her son's life, for it was un- doubtedly he. I gleaned from her that the hieroglyphics upon the shell were taught him by her, — what they signified she would not say, — and that he had written them upon the birds of the air, the beasts of the field, and the inhabitants of the water, that they might be borne to her wherever hid. I never got my shell back : it would have been like tearing the miniature of a dead child from its mother's bosom. And the old woman, when I went to see her next day, had disappeared." Here the old gentleman rose and w^ent for- ward. H. S. Edwards. "ONCE, WHEN A CHILD," ONCE, when a child, I passed a sunny field; All frank and clear the morn before me lay ; A broad blue sky and waving grass revealed The open smile of Nature's face in May. My childish heart was like a happy bird That gently sways within her well-known nest. A sudden turn, — the cheerful landscape blurred Into a dream of mystery and unrest. The shadow of a somber rock and pine, The silence deep that dwells with shade alway, Entered my soul. There stirred a sudden breath Through the tree-tops. It whispered : Wings are thine. So the bird fluttered from her nest that day Up toward the mysteries of Life and Death. Mary Murdoch Mason. Vol. XXXVIL— 41, THE RISE AND FALL OF "THE IRISH AIGLE.' JR. MARTIN DOYLE, Mr. Andrew Cummiskey, Mr. Peter O'Rourke, Mr. Frank Brady, and Mr. James Foley were seated in the private snuggery be- hind Mr. Matthew Mc- Keon's sample room on Washington street, San Francisco. It was late in the evening of Thanksgiving Day, 1874, and these gentlemen had met by appointment to discuss a very serious and important matter of business. The apartment was small and its at- mosphere was changing into a pale blue haze. This was due to Mr. McKeon's cigars, one of which was wielded by each of the party. From the saloon outside muffled sounds of holiday revelry stole in, swelling into positive uproar when the host opened the door, which he did every ten or fifteen minutes, to put in his head to inquire if" the jintlemen wanted anything." To each of these appeals Mr. Martin Doyle made the same reply: " Nothin', Mat, nothin'; we 're here for business, not for dhrink." And the door was closed again. The truth was that all five were patriots of the most advanced type, and had met to de- termine upon the best means of freeing old Ire- land from the bloody and tyrannical yoke of the Saxon oppressor. It is true that " opprissor " was the word used in their frequent repetition of thiis formula, but the meaning was the same. In spite of the periodical refusal of McKeon's offers of refreshment the table round which they were seated was fairly furnished with drinkables : perhaps this circumstance embold- ened them to decline further supplies. Messrs. Cummiskey, Brady, O'Rourke, and Foley paid attention to a portly bottle of Kinnahan's L. L., the contents of which they qualified in varying proportions with hot water, lemon, and sugar. Mr. Doyle's tastes had become so vitiated by long residence in America as to lead him to prefer simple Bourbon whisky; but, this de- tail apart, he was as true an Irishman still as on the day, now some twenty-five years ago, when, a lank, ungainly boy, he had entered Tapscott's office in Liverpool and engaged passage for the land of promise. Indeed, it was Mr. Doyle who had called the present meeting together. By 10 o'clock the bottles were almost empty and the cigar smoke had grown so dense that the mild features of Robert Emmet, who stood in all the glory of green uniform and waved a feathered hat e;cultantly from an engraving above Mr. Foley's head, could scarcely be dis- tinguished. Mr. Martin Doyle's notable scheme had been thoroughly discussed in all its details, and the proud projector arose somewhat un- steadily. " Fri'nds and fellow-countrymen," he began, " the death knell of Saxon opprission has nearly sthruck. Ye can come in. Mat," — this to Mr. McKeon, whose head appeared in the door- way,— " ye can come in ; we 've most finished, an' we '11 be havin' a dock a dorrish prisintly. Well, as I was sayin', the Saxon opprissor — "■ " To wid him ! " broke in Foley impul- sively, and the rest of the company contributed a deep voiced " Amin ! " " Misther Foley, and jintlemen," expostulated the speaker, " I have the flure. We 're agreed, I belave, that the pin is mightier nor the sword. All in favor of that proposition will signify their assint by sayin' ' Aye,' Contrary minded, ' No.' The. ayes have it, and it is so orthered. There- fore, jintlemen, we bein' prisint here this night do agree each to conthribute the sum of wan hunthred dollars, bein' five hunthred dollars in all, to defray the immejit expinses of startin' a wakely journal, the same to be called ' The Irish Aigle.' " Enthusiastic cheers drowned the speaker's voice. He smiled, answered a pantomimic suggestion of McKeon's with a nod, and, draining the glass which the host handed to him, proceeded. " We five jintlemen here prisint, havin' the cause of an opprissed people at heart, do here- by resolve ourselves into a thryumvirate to so- licit further conthributions from local pathriots, an' such aid in the way of advertisements an' subscriptions as we may be able to secure. All in favor of this plan will signify the same by sayin' 'Aye.' Contrary minded, ' No.' The ayes have it, and it is so orthered. Mr. Foley, Mr. O'Rourke, Mr. Brady, Mr. Cummiskey and me unworthy silf, as members of the Thry- umvirate, will git to work. Long life and suc- cess to ' The Irish Aigle ' ! " As soon as the toast had been duly hon- ored, Mr. Cummiskey took McKeon aside and pointed out to him the immense advan- tage he would reap from advertising his saloon in the new organ. The representation which appeared to have most weight with the liquor dealer lay in these words : " Ye see, Mike, the offices of ' The Aigle ' will be only three dures from you and sivin from Jerry THE RISE AND FALL OF ''THE IRISH AIGLET 299 McManus. Now, ye know yersilf pathriotism is dhry work, and McManus knows it too." On the strength of this argument the astute .Mr. Cummiskey booked a ten-dollar " ad " on the spot, and laid the foundation of that gen- erous rivalry between the two saloon keepers which afterwards became such an important factor in the well-being of " The Irish Eagle." The preliminary work of engaging a suitable office and hiring type was undertaken by Mr. Doyle and was executed, as the legend in his own shoe-store set forth, " with promptness and dispatch." Two weeks afterwards the first num- ber of the new paper was for sale on the news- stands, glorious with a rampant eagle flaunting a Celtic motto from its beak. The reading matter was largely made up of patriotic poems and clippings from other journals of the same way of thinking, but the editorial page was original — thoroughly, unquestionably origi- nal. The united wisdom of the Thryumvi- rate had been expended on that effort. There breathed the fiery utterances of Cummiskey, the butter-seller; there sparkled the neat epi- gram of O'Rourke, the truckman ; there were set forth the lucid arguments of Foley, the tan- ner ; there the reader might trace the sportive fancies of Brady, the bookbinder; and the whole bore witness to the massive genius of Martin Doyle, the shoemaker. It was a great number, and its appearance was duly celebrated at McKeon's by the Thryumvirate, resolved for the moment into a mutual admiration society. At this meeting a new arrangement was made. The paper should be edited, not by the whole committee acting as a body, but by the indi- vidual members holding office in rotation. The five issues succeeding the first came out in this way, and lost nothing in-originality even if they suffered in variety. Peter O'Rourke began the series and Frank Brady brought up the rear. Each recurrent editor was thoroughly satisfied with himself, but felt hurt to see the line of policy he had projected during his week of office ruthlessly abandoned by his successor. It became evident that something must be done in the interests of uniformity. The paper was pulling five ways at once, and, doubtless for that reason, had so far failed to deal any really fatal blow at British institutions. Every one felt this, and the eyes of the nation were upon Mr. Martin Doyle. That gentleman rose to the occasion, and called an extraordinary meeting of the Committee of Stockholders. The enterprise had been duly incorporated accord- ing to the laws of California, under the name of "The Eagle Publishing Company." The session took place in McKeon's saloon, and Mr. Doyle laid the matter before his colleagues in a neat impromptu speech. "Ireland," he remarked, "has groaned for six hunthred years beneath the yoke of the Saxon opprissor." Mr. Doyle's oratory had the merit of taking up his subject at the very be- ginning. Having briefly called attention to the principal groans which had been uttered by the suffering island during the centuries referred to, the speaker proceeded. " At a pravious meetin' of this honorable body it was determined that the best and most immejitly practical way of rightin' the wrongs of our sufferin' counthry was to dissiminate them broadly through the world; to call on all Irishmen in ivery climate under heaven to organize an' be free, an' to paint the black behavior of the Saxon tyrant in the brightest colors. Wid this object we started ' The Irish Aigle,' the first couple of numbers of which have already reached England and sthruck ter- ror to the sowls of a bloody and sowlless aris- tocracy. But, jintlemen, we cannot disguise from ourselves the fact that no tangible result has yet been perjuced, and this I atthribute to the followin' rason, namely, to wit : while we are all alike animated by the same burnin' love of freedom, we differ in matters of daytail. While wan advycates the sword, another is of opinyun that an open risin' would at prisint be primature. We all belave in organization, but no two of us has the wan notion as to the manes and maning of organization. There- fore the paper sez wan wake wan thing, and another wake another, which is confusin' to the ignorant pathriot; an' that many of our best pathriots is ignorant, it is not you, me fri'nds, nor me will deny. The ignorance of the masses is another crime on the bloody bead- roll of Saxon opprission. Therefore, jintlemen, what I propose is as follows, namely, to wit : that we do ingage a jintleman of scientific at- tainments an' practised litherary vocations, to idit this journal an' say for us what we have to say betther nor we can say it for ourselves, an' such a jintleman I have been fortunate enough to discover an' unearth. He is an Irishman, av coorse; a native of the county Westmeath, an', what is more to our purpose, a graduate of Thrinity College, Dublin, He is young, but sure Robert Emmet was young, an' he '11 come all the ch'aper on that account; an' he is racently from the ould counthry, an' therefore posted in all the latest daytails of its sufferin's. His name is Ffrench, wherefore we may as- sume that he is a near relative of the immortal liberathor, Daniel O'Connell. Now, jintlemin, we can arrange the business part later ; all I want to do now is to take the sinse of this Thryumvirate in the ingagin' of an iditor for ' The Irish Aigle.' All in favor of that prop- osition will signify the same by sayin' ' Aye.' Conthrary minded, ' No.' The ayes have it, an' it is so orthered." 300 THE RISE AND EALL OF ''THE IRISH AIGIEr There could be no doubt as to the approval with which this speech was received. " A great idea intirely," " Could n't be betther, " " A sthroke of janius," were a few of the phrases in which the Thryumvirate indorsed the pro- posal of its spokesman. Mr. Doyle, with a brief *' Ye '11 excuse me, jintlemen," and a modest consciousness of having deserved well of his country, withdrew. " Ye done grand work wid your issue of the paper, Andy," remarked Mr. Foley; "it was really great." " I thought it was n't bad, Jim, till I seen yours," responded Mr. Cummiskey, " an' thin I seen what a man of native originality c'u'd do wid the subject"; and so, like hand and glove patriots as they were, each proceeded to exalt his neighbor and complacently to drink in such dews of applause as descended on himself, till Mr. Doyle returned and intro- duced Gerald Ffrench. " Mr. Ffrench, jintlemen," he said ; " a man of rare scientific attainments and university eddication." Ail rose, and one after another grasped Mr. Ffrench's hand. This operation was conducted silently, and reminded Gerald of a chorus of conspirators in opera-bouffe. As Mr. Foley, the last to advance, dropped the young man's fingers, he remarked in a husky whisper, and with a suggestion of emo- tion in his voice : " This is a great day for Ireland." " Ye 're right, it is," said Mr. O'Rourke. Then he stepped to the door and called : " Mountain dew. Mat, and bug juice for Mr. Doyle. Ye can drink the ould stuff?" he added, turning to Gerald. Gerald admitted that he could, and then the conversation lan- guished. All resumed their seats, and the ten eyes of the Thryumvirate were leveled at the young man. He bore the scrutiny uneasily, and his color rose. They were " taking stock " of him. Gerald Ffrench was about twenty-three, and a fair specimen of a class of young men of which the Silent Sister turns out several hun- dred every year. At this time he had been in America some eight months; in San Francisco less than two. He came of a good old Irish family and had received the younger son's portion of two thousand pounds immediately after his twenty-first birthday. He had read a little for the bar and did not like it; he had thought of entering the army but did not quite fancy it; on the whole, it occurred to him that he could not do better than to try his fortune in the United States. He left Ireland for New York, but did not travel direct. He first visited London and thence passed over to Paris. He found the latter city very fascinating and re- mained there some time. Then, as it was so close at hand, he thought it a pity not to see the Vienna Exhibition, and he went to Vienna and saw it. The young fellow, accustomed to deny himself nothing, and with more money in his pocket than he had ever possessed be- fore, did not exercise a becoming frugality. When he had had enough of Europe he sailed for America, and New York was scarcely less to his taste than the Old World capitals. He lingered there for several months, but finding himself unappreciated he started for California, He selected the route by Panama, and treated the voyage over tropic seas as a veritable pleas- ure trip. In San Francisco he remained, pos- sibly because he had not money enough left to go farther. It was not till he had changed his last twenty-dollar piece, however, that he realized his position. He had received all he was entitled to and had spent it. That twenty dollars, represented by a fast-diminishing pile of silver, must be replaced by his own exer- tions. For what was he fitted, this young man endowed with nothing but health, a good education, and a certain amount of superficial experience ? He did not know. He wandered about the streets and envied the blacksmiths and the bricklayers. He would willingly have bartered his education for a good trade. Then he began to waite for the papers, but speedily found that the qualifications which had won him an occasional medal for composition at Trinity College were of no value at all in the city department of a new^spaper. Again and again were his contributions rejected with the curt remark, " We 've no room to print es- says." He offered to write editorials, but was laughed at, though he felt he could have amended the halting English of many of those oracular utterances. His rounds of the journals entailed much wear of heart and of shoe-leather, and but little of silver solace. Still he made a few acquaintances, and it was one of these, an Irishman, and the city editor of an evening paper, who introduced him to Doyle as the very man for " The Irish Eagle." Gerald had jum^ped at the idea eagerly, and had succeeded in impressing Mr. Doyle with a due sense of his attainments. His eyes sank before those of the Thryumvirate, however. A single ques- tion from any one of these shrewd-looking, middle-aged Irishmen might prick the bubble and display him in his true colors — as a man who knew no more of the routine work neces- sary for a paper than he did of casting its type. He might have reassured himself. Not one was there who did not regard him as an incar- nate battering-ram, built expressly to level the battlemented tyranny of England in the dust. McKeon entered with the refreshments. " Will ye oblige us wid the last number of ' The Irish Aigle ' ? " said Mr. Doyle, solemnly. Mr. Cummiskey on the right, Mr. Foley on THE RISE AND FALL OF " THE IRISH AIGLEr 301 THE MEETING AT McKEON S. the left, Mr. O'Rourke in front, and Mr. Brady from the rear simuUaneously and solemnly proffered one to their chairman. Gerald, who had been led to study the paper by the first hint of the honor in store for him, saw this and hurriedly restored his OAvn copy to his pocket. The action, however, had not passed unnoticed, and called forth an approv- ing smile from the Thryumvirate. Mr. Doyle took a paper from the man nearest him and waved it in the air. He was evidendy loaded and primed for a speech. " By the unanimous vote of mesilf an' col- leagues," he began, "you, Mr. Ffrench, are called to the iditorial chair of this journal. The stipind will be seventeen dollars and a Vol. XXXVIL— 42. half a wake." He paused, to let his words have their due effect. Gerald leaned back with a sigh of relief. It would go hard but he could retain his position for one week at least, and $17.50 looked to him like boundless wealth. The Thryumvirate was watching him. He felt that he was called on to say something. " Very liberal, most happy," he muttered; and then, as no one spoke and the silence be- came embarrassing, he ventured to add, " By the bye — 'Irish Eagle,' you know. Is n't it rather an odd name ? " " Why ? " asked Mr. Doyle, severely ; and Mr. Brady, who had not suggested it, hastened to add : " Maybe Mr. Ffrench could think of a betther?" 302 THE RISE AND FALL OF ''THE IRISH AIGLEr Thus appealed to, Mr. Ffrench, after some hesitation, thought that a more personal name — something like the " Fenian," or the — He was interrupted by a very tempest of opposition, and sat appalled at the fury of the storm he had called forth. " Fenian ! " " The dhirty rats ! " " The cow- ardly time-servers ! " " They 're the curse of Ireland ! " Such were the exclamations that broke from the group ; but presently Mr. Doyle's voice rose in connected statement, dominating the confusion. " Misther Ffrench," he said, " I 'd have ye to know that this organization is thorough ! We are no advycates of half-measures, and we propose to free Ireland, if we have to swim in blood to do it. We are advanced Nationalists ; we 're far beyant the Fenians ! We say, ' Burn London,' ' Burn Liverpool,' ' Import cholera germs into Dublin Castle,' ' Blow up Windsor Castle ! ' ' Put to the sword the Houses of Parleymint ' — ay, Irish mimbers an' all, for they 're no betther nor the rest, keepin' terms with the bloody Saxon opprissor. An' if an ai-my of thim half-hearted Fenians was in it, I 'd say blow thim up too; for they 're no use, an' they 're only palterin' wid the liberty of their counthry. The day of Vinegar Hill is over. It 's not in the open field we '11 honor thim by burnin' powdther, but undher their houses, un- dher their bridges, undher their public build- in's, an' that 's the mission of ' The Irish Aigle.' " Gerald's astonishment that any class of Irish- men should be, as Mr. Doyle phrased it, more " advanced " than the Fenians was swallowed up in amazement at this vigorous denuncia- tion. Like most young Irishmen of family and education he had no sympathy whatever with the discontent of the peasantry, and in- deed he had only vaguely heard of its exist- ence before he came to America. There, how- ever, he had soon found, to his surprise, that from the mere fact of his being an Irishman it was accepted as inevitable that he must hate England and everything English. To the brother of the Conservative member, Edward Ffrench of Ballyvore Park, all this had seemed absurd enough, but he had let it pass without comment. Now he found himself the central figure of a knot of men who talked bloodshed and savored the word as they uttered it as though it were pleasant of taste — men who condemned war and batdefields as not mur- derous enough, and who scouted as insufii- ciently villainous the most reckless organiza- tion he had ever heard of However, brief as had been his newspaper experience, he had learned that in journalism it is not seldom necessary to support one side openly while secredy holding the opposite tenets. This he had come quite prepared to do, and this explo- sion, murder, and sudden death horrified him for a moment, till the very extravagance of the language brought its own comfort. It was something to laugh at, not to revolt from, this little group of Irishmen proposing to wreck Great Britain from the back-room of a San Francisco saloQn; and then there was the $17.50 to think of. He could not afford the luxury of high principles. He would humor the joke and write an article on blowing up the Thames, if they wanted it. It would put money in his pocket and would not affect the Thames. " With regard to the title of this journal," proceeded Doyle, waving the sheet, " it was silicted by me wid the approval of me col- leagues here for the followin' raisons, namely, to wit : In the first place, the aigle is the em- blem of America ; for we are all American citi- zens, an' the counthry of our adoption is sicond in our affections only to that of our birth. In the nixt place, the aigle is universally re- garded as the burrud of freedom : I niver seen wan free mesilf, nor any other way than in a cage at Woodward's Garden beyant, but it is so rigarded. This is ' The Irish Aigle ' ; high may she soar an' long may she wave, an' deep be her talents in the black heart of the Saxon opprissor ! " As soon as the wild applause which this sentiment evoked had subsided Mr. O'Rourke rose. " I propose," said he, " that we do now adjourn to the office and install Mr. Ffrench in the iditorial chair, aftherhavin' inthrojuiced him to our foreman. All in favor of this prop- osition will signify the same by — " But as all rose at once, it was not considered necessary to press the question to a vote. The . editorial offices of "The Irish Eagle" occupied a single room at the top of a neigh- boring building. The apartment was divided into two unequal portions by a board partition which did not reach to the ceiling. In the outer room was the " plant " of the paper, con- sisting of a few cases of type, a roller for " pull- ing proofs," and half a dozen galleys. There was an imposing-stone in the center on which lay the forms just as they had come back from the printer. A shaky old man was distributing type at one of the cases. To him Gerald was duly presented. " Mr. Ffrench, this is our foreman, Mr. Mike Carney. Mike, this is the new iditor. Come inside now, an' take charge ' ' ; and the whole party trooped into the sanctum. It was a small place and seemed crowded when all had entered. The furniture was scanty, consisting of a large table, a few office stools, and an arrangement of shelves against the par- tition for the accommodation of the unsold copies of the paper. The table was littered with exchanges, and a volume of the poems of Thomas Davis lay on the floor. THE RISE AND EALL OE ^^THE IRISH AIGIEr 303 Mr. Doyle at once proceeded to business. "The paper goes to priss Fridays," he said; " so ye see, this bein' Monday, ye have no time to lose. How are ye off for copy, Mike ? " " Bad," answered the old printer. " I 've a little reprint, but no original matter at all." " We '11 soon remedy that," said Gerald cheerfully, with all the ready complaisance of a new hand. " How many editorials do you generally have ? " date of MacMurragh's MIKE CARNEY, THE FOREMAN. " The more the merrier," said Mr. Cummis- key. " Now here 's a good subject — ' The Duty of the Day.' I started it mesilf." Gerald took a slip of manuscript from his hand. It was written in pencil and showed many cor- rections and interlineations. It was not easy to read, but the new editor was in no position to neglect a hint. " Since MacMurragh flourished and died a traitor's death," so Mr. Cummiskey's contribu- tion began, " there has been only the one duty for Irishmen, and that is vengeance." Ger- ald paused in thought. Who was MacMur- ragh, when had he flourished, and for what had he been hanged ? He wished that his new employers would not deal so much with obscure history. He ventured an observation. " Undoubtedly the judicial murder of the unfortunate MacMurragh calls for exemplary vengeance," he began. A howl of execration interrupted him. "The vilyan ! The thraitor! The bloody agint of Saxon opprission ! " Evi- dently he was on the wrong track and Mac- Murragh was anything but popular. Gerald read the paragraph again, but it furnished no new light. " Let me see," he said tentatively; " what was the exact — ah — ahem — death ? " Elivin hundhred an' sivinty-sivin," shouted the Thryumvirate as one man. Evidently Mac- Murragh belonged to a familiar historical epoch. Gerald swallowed his surprise and merely re- marked, "Ah, yes; I had a dispute with Profes- sor Galbraith once on that very point. He main- tained that it was 1 188, but I knew I was right." " Av coorse ye were," said Cummiskey, tri- umphantly. " Sivinty-sivin, an' I '11 maintain it agin the wurruld." " But," ventured Gerald, " as your article is on the duty of the day, don't you think we are going back rather far for an illustration ? " " Who the divil wants an illusthration ? It 's an apoch : since Dermot MacMurragh- — bad cess to him for that same — invited the English into Ireland, the counthry has niver been quit of them. Our duty began that day, an' it has n't changed since. It 's to kill ivery Englishman." " But to do that we must organize ! " broke in Foley, springing on his favorite hobby at a bound ; " organize an' be free ! That 's the les- son to tach Irishmen to-day. Make yer first article on organization, Mr. Ffrench." " With pleasure," said Gerald. " Do you ad- vocate any particular plan of organization ? " " Niver heed the plan. Jist organize. Whin Irishmen the wurruld over are wilded into a solid newclayus, thin the death knell of Saxon opprission will be flashed abroad visible as the firmymint. Thim 's the very wurruds I stated in me own iditorial on the subject." "And a noble sintiment it is," said Mr, Doyle. " Nobly expressed," added Gerald with a bow to Mr. Foley, thereby making that gen- tleman a friend for life. " Without wishin' to dictate to ye, Mr. Ffrench," said Doyle after a brief pause, " I '11 ax if ye know anything about dynamite." " I know it is a very powerful explosive," said Gerald, somewhat surprised, " and that it bids fair to take the place of all other preparations of nitro-glycerine ; but why ? " '• Why ? " repeated Mr. Doyle, in a deep voice. " Because what Ireland needs is a pow- erful explosive; what England will get is a powerful explosive ; that 's the why, an' the chief mission of "The Irish Aigle " is to bear powerful explosives to the sufiferin' children of 304 THE RISE AND EALL OE ''THE IRISH AIGIEr "MR. DOYLE CLEARED HIS THROAT AND ROSE." Erin, whether they cower beneath the glass- ears of the North or hide their woes under the thropics. Come, jintlemin, that 's all that 's to be said. We won't waste Mr. Ffrench's time any longer. If ye want any information as to daytails, Mike Carney 's the boy to give 'em ye. Good day to ye, sir," And the Thryumvirate filed out, leaving Gerald to collect such mean- ing as he might from the suggestions offered and to condense them into an article which should teach the Irish race that the duty of the day was to organize dynamite. As time wore on, Gerald found himself face to face with a difficult task. Having entered upon his duties with a tacit assumption of qualification, he felt obliged to live up to the character he had brought with him. This pre- vented him from asking questions, at least di- rectly, and he was constantly on the watch to pick up any unconsidered crumbs of knowl- edge that might fall in his way. Being engaged as an expert, he could not learn as an appren- tice, and yet the trivial details of even such an office as that of "The Irish Eagle "were all new to him. Mike Carney quickly fathomed his ignorance ; but the old printer was good-nat- ured, and not only kept the young man's se- cret, but made an elaborate pretense of belief in him. This, of course, did not impose on Gerald, who reciprocated by always observing the fiction of Carney's sobriety, and the two got on very well together. The editor learned something every day. He soon came to dis- tinguish between brevier and nonpareil, and he corrected his proofs without marking errors in the middle of the line as they happened to occur. The Thryumvirate never suspected that an editor was being educated in the office, and the tangible results, as shown in the paper, were on the whole satisfactory. Gerald always wrote at least three articles — one on organiza- tion, one on the manifest duty of Irishmen, and one on the theory and practice of dyna- mite. These essays — for they were nothing less — abounded in long words and involved sentences, and in so far as they were incom- prehensible to the patriots gave eminent satis- faction. There could be no doubt of the new editor's ability and scholarly attainments. But Doyle, who had all his life been accustomed to call a spade a spade, and an Englishman a bloody, brutalized robber, detected a certain weakness in the academic phrases of the young collegian. " Our hereditary enemies," " the despoilers of our land," etc., were to the Irish- man far less direct and forcible than " spawn of the Saxon thraitor," or " red and pitiless monster," and Gerald's incapacity to realize the fact that an Englishman of moral life or good intentions is as much a creature of fancy THE RISE AND FALL OF ''THE LRISH ALGLE. 305 as the unicorn was at first rather trying to the patriot. " But he 's young," Doyle would re- mark by way of consolation, " and he has n't been ground under the heel of the Saxon for over forty years as I have " ; which, as the speaker had been a resident in the United States for a quarter of a century or therea- bout, was quite fikely to be the truth. But, all in all, Gerald suited them very well. His editorial utterances took on more of the tone of his surroundings, and while still mar- shaling his verbal three-deckers for weekly action he contrived now and then to throw a hot shot into the enemy's stronghold which delighted Doyle himself As for Foley, he had sworn by the young man from the first, and committed to memory long passages from the paper and recited them as opportunity offered either in the bosom of his familv or in McReon's saloon. Gerald soon began to enter with spirit into the game of vilifying the Saxon. His com- mon sense told him that no harm could re- sult from the frothy nonsense, and he even took a mischievous pleasure in sending his brother a copy of the paper each week. These, however, were addressed by the boy who wrote the wrap- pers. He would not have identified himself with the sheet for twice his weekly salary. This same salary was the principal thorn in young Ffrench's bed of roses. It was never paid. He received money, to be sure, when his necessities urged him to press for it ; but it was five dollars at one time, two at another — sometimes only fifty cents. " When the paper gets upon its legs " — that was the only an- swer he received when he asked for a settle- ment. There was no regular paymaster. A request addressed to Mr. Doyle, who seemed the moving spirit, would call forth some such answer as, " Money ? Av coorse ; why not ? Can ye get along wid three dollars till to-morrow ? " But to-morrow, in the sense that Gerald looked for it, never came, and the Eagle Publishing Company sank deeper and deeper into his debt. Indeed, the paper was not prosperous. Sub- scriptions fell into arrears ; advertisers did not pay up. McManus withdrew the card of his saloon altogether, on the ground that McKeon received all the office patronage. Carney was forthwith provided with a dollar and instructed to go out and invest it over McManus's bar. This he did with scrupulous exactitude, but without result, unless his incapacity for work during the remainder of the day can be re- garded as such. The change of whisky did n't agree with him, he said. The following week McKeon reduced his adverdsement. " As long as McManus don't put his card in the paper," argued McKeon, " there 's no sinse in my car- ryin' such a big ' ad.' " Truly the " Eagle " had fallen on evil days. Vol. XXXVIL— -43. The fact was that, though all five of the original promoters were enthusiastic in their self-sought mission, they had not calculated upon, nor could they afford, the constant drain which the paper made upon them. The of- fice rent had to be paid; also the paper bill, and the weekly account for presswork. Gerald and Carney were less imperative items in the expense account, and they had to wait accord- ingly. The latter was not exacting : as long as he had a few " bits " to spend for liquor he seemed satisfied, and Gerald was at least mak- ing a living, such as it was, which was more than he had been able to do before. His re- ceipts may have averaged twelve dollars a week, and he paid the balance willingly as the price of experience, confessing to himself that he was only an apprentice. An appeal to the w^ealthy Irishmen of the State, drawn up by Gerald and signed by the Thryumvirate, did not meet with conspicuous success. There were few responses. Mr. Pat- rick Byrne, the millionaire vine-grower of San Antonio County, sent a full-page advertisement of his " Golden Wine " marked for one inser- tion, and inclosed his check for two hundred and fifty dollars. But this was only -a sop to Cerberus. The paper bill took most of it; Gerald and Carney got ten dollars apiece. Evidently things could not go on in this way. " The Irish Eagle " was falling after a brief flight of some six months; it was slowly starving to death, and the first pound of dynamite was still unbought — the lowest step of Queen Vic- toria's throne was still unshattered. The end was not long deferred. Gerald had just finished a handsome obituary notice of Mr. Phelim O' Gorman, a wealthy and promi- nent Irish resident who had died the day be- fore, and Mike Carney was engaged in em- balming the virtues of the deceased in cold type, when the Thryumvirate filed slowly into the editorial sanctum. There was gloom on the brows of the patriots and sorrow in their tones. Mr. Martin Doyle flung a small sheaf of advertising bills on the table. " I can't col- lect the first cint," he said with a groan. The groan was echoed by his colleagues, and the editor looked serious and sympathetic. He felt that this was not a moment to urge the question of his arrears, though during the last few weeks the sum had rolled up with startling rapidity. " They would n't organize," remarked Mr. Foley, despondently. " They might have been free by this time if they 'd only have organized." " They 've niglected the clare duty of the day," said Mr. Cummiskey ; " an' this is what it 's brought us to." Mr. Doyle cleared his throat and rose, but evidently he did not feel equal to a rhetorical flight. He only said : 3o6 THE RISE AND EALL OE ''THE IRISH AIGLE. " At a meetin' of the stockholders of the Aigle PubHshing Company, duly called an' convaned, it has been decided to discontinue the publication of ' The Irish Aigle ' for the prisint." The announcement did not take Gerald wholly by surprise. He had been looking for something of the sort. " And what about me ? " he asked. " This issue will be printed an' published as usual," said Mr. Doyle. " It 's all med up, anyhow, an' goes to priss to-night. Afther that, Mr. Ffrench, the company will have no further call for yer services." "You owe me, as I suppose you are aware," began Gerald, but a storm of indignant pro- tests drowned his voice. " Bad cess to the dhirty money ! " " Is it yer arrairs ye 're thinkin' of whin the last hope of Irish indipindance is shattered in the dust ? " "Are n't we all losers together?" and much more to the same effect. Gerald waited till silence was restored, and then attempted to renew his appeal, but Mr. Doyle turned on him with oppressive dignity. " Ye 're an Irishman, Mr. Ffrench, I belave ? " Gerald admitted his nationality. " Very well, thin ; it 's proud an' thankful ye ought to be to make a thriflin' sacrifice for the land of yer burruth." In moments of excite- ment or emotion Mr. Doyle's native Doric took on a richer tone. " We 've all med our sacri- fices for the good cause. Let this wan be yours." It was impossible for Gerald to explain to these perfervid patriots that their cause was not his — that all his sympathies, all his habits, bound him to the class they were aiming to overthrow. Out of his own mouth, or rather out of his own editorials, they would have con- victed him as something more advanced than a Fenian ; weak, indeed, in details of Irish his- tory, but sound to the core on the great ques- tion of Irish liberty. As he sat silent, vainly seeking .some reply to this appeal to his pa- triotism, the Thryumvirate rose as one man and stalked from the room. From the case outside Mike Carney could be heard in a flood of song : Oh, hov/ she swum the wathers, The good ship Castletown, The day she flung our banner forth, The Harp without the Crown, The old printer was occasionally patriotic in his cups. Gerald hkened " The Irish Eagle " to the dying swan, and realized that the end was near. The following week was one of anxious in- action. Ffrench vibrated between the office and McKeon's saloon; Carney confined him- self strictly to the latter. The Thryumvirate was seldom visible ; and had it not been for a lucky accident, the editor of "The Irish Eagle" would have left that paper penniless. A son of the late Mr. Phelim O' Gorman, pleased with the prominence given to his father's vir- tues and ignorant of the suspension of the paper, entered the ofhce one day and found Gerald seated, like Marius, alone among the ruins. The greater part of the edition was still unsold on the shelves, and when Mr. O' Gorman, Jr., asked for a few copies of the issue containing the notice of his father's death the editor was prompt to accommodate him. How many would he have ? " How many can you spare me ? " "All you want," answered Gerald, briskly ;~ and young O' Gorman purchased two hundred " Irish Eagles " at their regular retail price often cents apiece, and departed leaving Gerald with a glow of gratitude in his heart and a twenty- dollar-piece in his pocket. He gave the defunct publishing company credit for this amount in his account for arrears. So fell " The Irish Eagle." Gerald Ffrench turned his back on Wash- ington street and patriotism, and took himself, his talents, and his new experience to more sordid and business-hke journals. He began to meet with more success. He had learned habits of thrift and industrious routine, and he had imbibed a hearty hatred for Irish Nationalists and all their ways. This last fact, however, was long unsuspected by Foley, Cum- miskey, and the others. Mr. Martin Do3de, in particular, followed the career of the dethroned editor with deep interest, and considered him the shining light of the San Francisco press. He used to point out Gerald with pride as one who " had Avorked hard and med his sac- rifices for the cause." He even invited the young man to attend a banquet of the Red Cross Knights on St. Patrick's Day. This in- vitation was declined, Gerald keenly recalling that immortal anniversary the year before and his mortification when the Thryumvirate had insisted on having " The Irish Aigle " printed in green ink in honor of the day. But that was all over now. Mr. Ffrench had resumed his ancestral role as a " Saxon opprissor," though the scattered members of the Thryumvirate were slow to believe it. Conviction came on them at last, and with crushing force. A certain noble earl was mur- dered in Ireland under circumstances of pecul- iar barbarity. The victim was an old man, but he was also a large land-holder, and a howl of exultation at his death and execration of his memory went up from all the Irish socie- ties. An important election was at hand, and the city papers, willing to cater to the Irish vote, took up the cry. The murdered earl was A LYRIC. 307 branded as a tyrant, tales of harrowing evic- tions were invented and ascribed to him, and it was broadly hinted that he had received no more than his deserts. This was more than Gerald Ffrench could stand. He had known the old gentleman in former days, had dined at his table and been " tipped " by him as a school-boy. He sat down and wrote a letter to " The Golden Fleece," a weekly paper of wide circulation. He took the earl's murder for a text, and told all he knew of the " wild justice of revenge " as executed by a blunderbuss from behind a hedge. His heart guided his pen; he rang out a withering impeachment of the methods of his countrymen, and signed it with his full name. Mr. Martin Doyle, Mr. Andrew Cummiskey, Mr. Peter O'Rourke, Mr. Frank Brady, and Mr. James Foley met the same evening in the private snuggery behind Mr. Matthew Mc- Keon's sample room on Washington street. Mr. Doyle had a paper in his hand. " Have ye read it ? " he asked. All admitted that they had. Mr. Doyle arose. " Fri'nds an' fellow-coun- thrymen," he said : " this letther, difindin' the memory of a black-hearted landlord ; this let- ther, callin' the noblest atthribute of our com- mon humanity, the atthribute of rivinge, a crime, was written by Gerald Ffrench [ groans] . Is he an Irishman ? [' No, no. 'J I don't care a trauneen if he was born in Westmeath; I don't value it a kippeen if he was eddycated in Thrinity College ; it 's nothin' to me if he did idit ' The Irish Aigle ' for filthy lukker; I here and now do brand and stiggatize him as a vile spawn of the Saxon opprissor. All in favor thereof will signify the same by saying, 'Aye.' Conthrary minded, ' No.' The ayes have it, and it is so orthered." All recorded their votes of censure against Gerald, even Mr. Foley, who acquiesced with a shake of the head, adding, " But he had grand ideas intirely about organization." Mr. Cummiskey took the suffrages of the party on the advisability of waylaying the culprit some night and giving him " the bating he had deserved," but this was overruled by Mr. Doyle. " It 's no use, boys," he said ; " a diginerate Irishman like that wud think nothin' of app'aling to the police for purtection. L'ave him alone. Vingeance will overtake him, along wid the rest of the accursed Saxon brood." George H. Jessop. A LYRIC. IF any one can tell you How my song is wrought And my melodies are caught, I will give, not sell you. The secret, if there be one (For I could never see one). How my songs are wrought. Like the blowing of the wind. Or the flowing of the stream, Is the music in my mind, And the voice in my dream, — Where many things appear. The dimple, the tear, And the pageant of the Year, But nothing that is clear. At Even and Morn Where sadness is gladness And sorrow unforlorn. For there Song is born. jR. H. Stoddard. THE LAST MANUSCRIPT OF HENRY WARD BEECHER. [This fragmentary article was the last piece of Mr. Beecher's manuscript. He was engaged upon it during the last week of his life, and the pages were found on his table after the attack which resulted in his death. It was the rough draft of the beginning of a paper on his English tour of 1863 which he had arranged to write for The Century "War Book." On the morning of the day on which he was stricken Mr. Beecher came to the office of The Century to discuss certain details of the paper. In the course of a long conversation at the time concerning this tour and its effect upon the public opinion and the diplomacy of En gland, he touched interestingly upon many points. He said that he had no word of blame for English prejudices on the ques- tions involved in the war, since he knew that they were founded in ignorance which only needed to be enlight- ened'; that on the whole when they were fully informed as to the facts the English were a just and candid people ; that he knew it was only necessary to dem- onstrate to them that the triumph of the North meant the end of slavery. He stated (and he ex- pected to touch upon the topic in the article) that the first overtures for the purchase of English cruisers for use in our war had come not from the Confederacy, but from the United States Navy De- partment through Assistant-Secretary Fox. He spoke lightly and yet with feeling of the fact that his work in England had been pointedly ignored by Secretary Sew- ard, specifically in a speech of the Secretary's to a New York committee in Washington, of which Mr. Beecher was one. He expressed gratification at learning in this conversation that Cobden had told an American gen- tleman (Mr. W. H. Osborn) that Beecher had saved the day for the North in England. (Mr. Cobden fur- ther said : " The gentlemen who preceded Mr. Beecher worked in society, in drawing-rooms, etc. ; Mr. Beecher determined to reach public opinion through the press — his vigorous speeches were copied in all the journals of Great Britain. I consider him the first platform orator living. He slaps back with tremendous force, and when insulted by the mob who had col- lected to put him down, his instantaneous retorts were powerful ; he displayed great qualities ; de- manded fair play, which the audience were compelled to give him. Thus the case reached the whole English people.") Mr. Beecher also dwelt especially upon the sacrifices which the championship of the North entailed upon the Lancashire operatives — emphasizing with personal expression the tribute with which this article closes, and which will be recognized as a fitting and characteristic last word in a life devoted to the cause of the poor and the oppressed. — Editor.] 'N June of 1863, in com- pany with Professor John H. Raymond, I visited England. I have often seen it stated that I was sent by the United States Government, or at least with the knowledge and suggestion of President Lincoln's administra- tion. But this is an error. I went upon my own errand, and, so far as I know, without the knowledge of Mr. Lincoln and his Cabinet; nor during my stay abroad did I receive any commission or communication of any kind from the American Government. I went sim- ply for rest and re-invigoration. Aside from the duties of my parish, I had since 1856, when Fremont was the candidate of the nascent Republican party, labored in season and out of season. During July, Au- gust, and September of 1856 I traversed the State of New York, addressing large popular audiences. For the most part the meetings were in the open air, and ranged from five to ten thousand people. My voice, by excessive speaking, had become very rough, and it re- quired three years to restore it to its accus- tomed smoothness. The country came to the election in i860 with constantly increasing excitement. At that time I had assumed the editorship of the -New York "Independent," and betw^een preach- ing, lecturing, editing, and the intense solici- tude for the fate of our armies, I began to flag, and determined to go to Europe for rest and recuperation. We sailed on the City of Richmond, Captain Brooks. Lying on my back, I said to myself: For years I have been studying every phase of American slavery — its history, its relation to morals and religion, to political economy, to the welfare of the laboring men of the world. But, I reflected, this war will surely destroy slavery. Neither religion nor patriotism has checked or alleviated its evils. Commerce had yielded to its golden blandishments, and poli- tics had protected it and fostered its influence upon governmental policy. Nothing but the fiery plow of war was to tear up its roots, and destroy it, branch and seed. And as I lay, half dreaming, I said to myself. All my prepara- tion has been vain ; I shall have no more use for my years of reflection and study. I knew not that just before me lay a work in which every element of preparation would be needed to the utmost ! We steamed up the Mersey in a dull, rainy morning. When the tug came off to the ship, 'H^ h^h^Az^ h^^'t^ ^JJL/n^ A-; ^^^ ^^-^ ^^^^'^ -^"^^ ^^ fifsiAt^LO^ /L FAC-SIMILE PAGE OF THE LAST MANUSCRIPT WRITTEN BY tm^.f^'f/'^^^/ HENRY WARD DEECHER. 3IO THE LAST MANUSCRIPT OF HENRY WARD BEE CHER. it brought a committee from Manchester re- questing me to speak in that city. What I thought of them, I well remember; what they thought of me, I cannot imagine. My soft hat had been white when I embarked, but was crushed on my head gray and grimed, and a huge shawl was swathed about the shoulders, dripping with rain, and the incredulous look with which they greeted me was fully justified by my appearance. I gave them a short and sharp refusal. In my then state of mind I felt that England had played false to my country. I was thor- oughly angry. I determined to pass through to the Continent, and shake off the dust of my feet against our unnatural mother. Nothing was to be hoped from her ; her statesmen, her courtiers, her lords, spiritual and temporal, her clergymen, for the most part, even her abolitionists and the very Quakers, who had for ^ years pricked our consciences with gentle spurs, laying on us the responsibility of slavery, now that we had arisen, and begun a war which should exterminate it, refused us all sympathy, were almost coquetting with the South, or were indifferent. What had I to do with these luke- warm friends or undisguised enemies ? Yes ; I was soundly angry, and felt as Jonah, " I do w^ell to be angry, even unto death." A few days' rest, a trip to the lakes and into Wales, somewhat ameliorated my disposition, and anger ultimately was changed to compas- sion. I consented to attend a temperance breakfast at Glasgow, and on the pledge that no report should be published made a speech, which got me into disgrace with General Hooker, who, however, at a later date, after the war, was reconciled, and remained friendly. In London, too, I attended a breakfast of min- isters and clergymen, and laid open some views of the struggle going on in America. Respect- ful attention, but httle sympathy and no enthu- siasm, was shown to the Northern cause. I left England in no amiable mood, and made a hurried tour through France, Switzer- land, Italy, and Germany, returning to London in September. While in Paris I was comforted with news of Vicksburg and Gettysburg. I staid at the Grand Hotel. In the glass-cov- ered court there was daily an assemblage of Southerners. They were swollen with confi- dence in the Southern cause, and after the old- fashioned insolence of fire-eaters they made their presence known whenever I passed through the court, not only by contemptuous demeanor, but by sending insulting messages by the servants. At length came the tidings of the surrender of Vicksburg and of Lee's defeat ! There was then no ocean telegraph. The news was sent to Queenstown and reached us on a Sunday morning. Mr. Dayton was then our Minister to France. I sat in church with his family. After the opening services, and while the notices for the week were being read, I turned to Miss Dayton and said : " Lee has been defeated." " True ? " " Yes, certain." She turned to a young lady by her side, an American, too, and whispered tfie news. On rising to sing the hymn before the sermon, the two attempted to sing, but broke down on the first two lines, and in a flood of tears sat down. Three of us were busy at the same time. The news of the fall of Vicksburg came about noon of the same day. I learned it from George Jones, of "The New York Times," and dashed around to Mr. Dayton's mansion to tell the joyful tidings. On going down-stairs I met Mr. Jones com- ing up. Alas ! he was too late ! I did not in the wild excitement of the moment dream that I should not have snatched from him the pleasure of announcing the joyful tidings to our minister. It was a "beat." From that hour I had no reason to complain of the ungentle- manly conduct of the Southern gentlemen. They were seen no more during. my stay in Paris. I returned to London in September, mean- ing to embark for America. I refused to enter the field in England- — refused all invitations to speak at public meetings, and was, gener- ally, out of sorts with Great Britain. With one or two notable exceptions the leading papers of the kingdom were unfavorable to the North. The great majority of Parlia- ment, with few exceptions, the nobility, the great body of professional men, men of educa- tion and wealth, the clergymen and dissenting ministers, Quakers and antislavery men of the old stripe, and in short, as it was said to me, "All men who can afford to ride in first-class cars, and put up at first-class hotels, are prej- udiced against the North, even when not in sympathy with the South." To this must be added the discouragement of Americans in England; they seemed cowed by the senti- ment about them, walked softly, and whispered like men conscious of danger. Meantime, as the days went on, men began to say, " It is best that the nation should be divided." Indeed an eminent clergyman of London, a warm personal friend, said to me : " I tefl you, Beecher, we have seen for some time that your nation was getting too strong, and was dividing with England the rule of the sea, and we felt that the time would come when we should have to step in and repress you — and so, we are glad to have the South step in and do it for us." No matter what my reply was : it was more pungent than wise or polite. The whole atmosphere was chilly, and I felt myself to be in a hostile nation. Some bright spots there were — and, singu- TOPICS OF THE TIME. 311 larly enough, they represented the extremes of society. When the capture of the Trent, with Mason and Shdell, had set Great Britain into . a blaze, and Lord John Russell was about to send to the British representative at Wash- ington a dispatch couched in terms that would have inflamed our people, the Queen had em- ployed her husband, Prince Albert, to modify the tone, and to strike out some of the most offensive passages entirely.^ It was the dictate of wisdom, both on moral and political grounds, and quenched the sparks that, if suffered to take air, might have burst into dangerous flames. It is said that aside from poHtical prudence there was a maternal inspiration. The extraor- dinary enthusiasm with which the then young Prince of Wales had been received by the Amer- ican people of the North, which in cordiality had surpassed his reception in Canada, gave to Queen Victoria great gratification. This illus- trious lady, among other excellences, has, in em- inent degree, fidelity to friends and friendship. On the other hand, the laboring classes, es- pecially cotton workers in Lancashire, were friendly to the cause of the North. But for the non-voting hand-workers of Great Britain, Par- liament would without doubt have decreed belligerent rights to the South. It was in the hearts of the legislators, but they were restrained by the knowledge of the strong sympathy of the common people for the cause of liberty. Trained in America, where universal manhood suffrage prevails, it puzzled me to understand how the Government should be affected by men without votes. It was explained to me 1 While Her Majesty was doubtless in entire accord with the Prince Consort in this matter, the authori- tative account given by Sir Theodore Martin in liis that Englishmen without the right of suffrage were jealous of legislation, and were in danger of great excitement and even of violence when the voting class disregarded the popular wishes. The weakness of the unvoting common people was, under certain circumstances, their strength — at any rate to the extent of making legisla- tors cautious in pursuing a measure against the known wishes of the common people. It would naturally be expected that the men whose livelihood depended upon the South and its cotton would be prejudiced against a war which interrupted commercial intercourse and stopped the supply of cotton. But it is to be remembered that Manchester had been edu- cated by such men as John Bright, Richard Cobden, [and] W. E. Forster, who with others of like noble natures had fought the Corn Laws and brought in the policy of free trade, A more pathetic example of the heroism of the poor was never exhibited than in the case of the Lancashire weavers. They saw their industries wasting, the bread grew scarce, even their poverty became poorer, nor was there any sign upon the horizon that this cloud would soon pass away, and yet they held fast their integrity; and, believing that the cause of the North was the cause of the day laborer the world over, they patiently bore famine and dis- tress with fortitude till the day dawned. No other men among all English-speaking peo- ple gave a testimony of the love of liberty so heroic and so pathetic as the weavers of Lan- cashire. Henry Wai'd Beccher. "Life of the Prince Consort," Vol. V., pp. 349, 350 (D. Appleton & Co. ), would indicate that the initiative came from the Prince. — Editor, TOPICS OF THE TIME. Christmas. I T was old Thomas Tusser, away back in fifteen hun- dred and something, who sang : At Christmas play, and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year. The return of this anniversary is no longer a matter of indifference in any department of thought or life. In Tusser's day it was chiefly 'an occasion for mirth under the sanction of religion — and far off be the time when such an observance of Christmas shall cease. For what this age needs — and coming ages promise to need it quite as much — is mirthfulness. The intensity of modern life and the deepening of consciousness through intelligence breed sadness. We think too much and work too hard to have time for enjoyment, and if we suddenly discover that we have need of it, we take it in inordinate quantities, rather than in simple and natural ways ; we go out and buy pleasure at so much the hour instead of somehow con- triving to live a mirthful life. Close observers of modern society, like Walter Besant, have discovered that a main lack in the lives of the poor is that of cheer, and he urges that philanthropic plans should embrace meas- ures for daily brightening the lives of the people by some simple experience of a pleasurable sort. It would be a somber fact if the number of those who live through a day without a laugh or even a smile could be ascer- tained,— a strange miscarriage of Nature, since man is the only being within her dominion who is capable of that action. Christmas has rendered the world this good service, that now for many centuries it has called men to sympathetic clieerfulness. It comes, indeed, but once a year, but for some days tlie cloud on the brow of humanity lifts a little and the wail dies out of its voice. At times it has been too obstreperous in its mirth and called for puritanic check, but for the most it has been true to its origin and stirred the human heart to sym- pathetic gladness and hope. We shall soon hear the growls of the pessimistic critic over the Avastefulness of 312 TOPICS OF THE TIME. Christmas gifts and the irrationality of Christmas mirth. Heed him not : he does not know that the key-note of the universe is joy, and that Christmas laughter is only a stray echo of an eternal hymn, and nearly the only one that has reached us, and that it is well worthy of be- ing caught if we would ever hear the whole. Therefore, fathers, give gifts to your children, even if you have to lessen the daily portion, remembering the wisdom of Mahomet, who said, that if " he had two loaves of bread he would sell one and buy hyacinths, for they would feed his soul." And, ye children, stir up your fathers to mirth ; Christmas comes but once a year, and the years left to them may not be many. The field of Christmas widens, so to speak, from age to age. It is more than a matter of religion and mirth. As "the time draws near the birth of Christ," we are reminded again how widely and profoundly he has taken possession of human society. If another chapter of Christian evidences were needed, one could be writ- ten on the fact that Christianity has in reality taken possession of the modern world in all its leading forms of thought and action, leaving the reader to make the inference as to its origin. The author of " Robert Els- mere " sees a glorious temple of Christianity built on the fond fancies and superstitions of those who were not sufficiently developed to use their faculties in giving testimony, but it seems like an indictment ot the intelligence of the civiHzed world to require it to believe that a fact and force so thoroughly accepted and inwrought by it, making it what it is, has not the basis of full reality. Christianity has not come into the world by some " other door," but through the ac- credited person and history of Jesus Christ. The im- pression made by the Christ on the world is the chief apologia for the faith. It is no longer a matter of church, but of society at large. It early took the lead of all other forces in determining history ; civilization again and again has turned upon it ; governments and institutions have been shaped by it ; society has drawn from it its temper and tone; it has made humanity a fact ; it has created democracy and made it a univer- sal certainty in the near future. The force with which it has penetrated the higher orders of thought is equally striking. Philosophy more and more finds it- self agreeing with Christian postulates and issuing in Christian ethics, not so much because the philosopher accepts Christianity as because Christianity has taken possession of the philosopher and taught him on what levels to think. Since last Christmas, Martineau, in his " Study of Religion," has united the highest philo- sophical thought of the last half of the century with the Christian faith in an inseparable unity. But the Christmas idea nowhere finds so full ex- pression as in literature. Schopenhauer says that music contains in itself all the concepts of the world. So literature may be said to contain in itself the con- cepts of whatever is best and truest in human experi- ence; and just as there is nothing false or evil in mu- sic, so literature takes into itself only what is true and good. The final judgment of reality and worth in this world's history is the consensus of literary genius. The absoluteness with which literature has indorsed Christmas is so much proof of its reality. A true poet might well suspect himself and the divineness of his inspiration if he found himself out of sympathy with Him whose " blessed feet " walked '' in the holy fields ',' of Syria. Matthew Arnold utters cries of desolation because he can get no clearer vision of-Tlim who lies dead — "in the lorn Syrian town." / What poet has not sung of Christmas? — from the " Ring out, ye crystal spheres," of Milton, to the " Ring out, w^ld bells, to the wild sky," of Tennyson, and always in one key of hope and gladness, yet with great contrasts. It can hardly be said that Tennyson is more earnest than Milton : certainly he is not a greater poet, and the famous stanzas in " In Memo- riam " sink far below the level of Milton's " Hymn on Christ's Nativity " in point of art and melody ; but we must admit that Tennyson's Christmas bells ring with a truer and more intelligent note. But this only shows that Christmas comes with fuller and clearer meaning as the centuries go by. Milton can see little but the forsaken temples of " Peor and Baalim " ; he hears only " The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint " ; and the Egyptian gods are buried in " pro- foundest hell." Tennyson comes much nearer the idea of Christmas in those eight stanzas that "ring out" the actual evils of the world, and Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. Progress of Ballot Reform. The subject of reform in our election methods is likely to attract great attention in many of our State legislatures this winter. All the States which have given it legislative consideration heretofore but have enacted no laws — New York, Michigan, Kentucky, Iowa, and Connecticut — are certain to return to it, for the popular interest in it is much greater now than at any previous time. In fact, there is scarcely a State in the Union in which there are not earnest advocates of the reform. In Rhode Island a Ballot Reform Club was formed several months ago for the express pur- pose of drafting a bill to submit to the legislature, and less formal but no less earnest efforts in the same direction are being made in other States. The record of the present year has been one of great encouragement to the friends of this most important reform. In April last the Wisconsin act went into operation for the first time, in a municipal election in Milwaukee. As our readers will perhaps remember, this act is only a partial application of the English and Australian systems. It is notable as the first application of the principle of ballot distribution by the State. Under its provisions the voter receives his ballots from a sworn official of the State in a room called the " ticket-room," which only one voter is allowed to enter at a time, passes alone to the " voting-room," where he deposits his ballot, and then goes out of a door provided for that purpose. No crowd of persons is allowed to collect within one hundred feet of the polling-places, and no person is allowed to offer tickets or to solicit votes within the same distance. In brief, from the time the voter enters the polling-place he is free from espionage and intimidation of all kinds, and can deposit a free and secret ballot. The first trial of the law was a most complete and satisfactory demon- stration of its practicability and wisdom. Not only was the election the most cjuiet and orderly that the city had seen in recent years, but ticket-peddling and the browbeating of ignorant voters were annihilated at TOPICS OF THE TIME. 2>^Z a blow. The press of the city was unanimous in ex- pressing approval of the workings of the new law. The most important legislative achievement of the year has been the enactment of a complete ballot law in Massachusetts. This measure, while modeled primarily upon the bill which the New York legislature passed, but which Governor Hill vetoed, differs from it in many respects. It contains an especially valuable provision for preventing the forgery of official ballots, and is, taken ail in all, probably the most intelligent and comprehen- sive application of the English and Australian systems to American needs which has been made. It places the entire printing and distributing of the ballots in the hands of the State, to be paid for at the public expense. It provides, also, for independent nominations by a specified number of voters, and requires the printing of the residence, street and number, of each candidate after his name upon the ballot. The Massachusetts law ought to be carefully studied by the framers of the new bill which is to be presented to the New York legislature this winter. It is likely to become the model for bills which are to be presented in other States, as indeed it ought to be ; for, aside from its great merits, it would be most desirable to have our different State laws upon this subject as nearly homogeneous as possible. We speak with entire confidence of the possibility of the different States having such laws in the near future. This is one of the reforms which must come, for without it our system of popular government can- not be maintained. Every election, especially in our large cities, shows that until this reform is secured all other reforms are impossible of accomplishment. The control of the election machinery, of the printing and distributing of the ballots, must be taken from the politicians and put into the hands of the State. That is, we must take the power to control our elections away from the men who have no responsibility and no interest in government save extravagance and corrup- tion, and put it into the hands of officials who are sworn to do their duty. Of what use is it to try to get honest men nominated for office when we leave in the hands of the political workers the power to defeat them at the polls by distributing fraudulent or defective bal- lots, or by making " deals " and " dickers " which cheat the people of their will ? We have talked for years about reforming the primaries and the nominat- ing conventions, but not one particle of progress has been made. Under the Massachusetts law any 400 voters, in case of a candidate for State office, and any 100 voters, in case of a candidate for a lesser office, by uniting in a petition in behalf of a candidate of their choice can have his name printed upon the official ballots and have those ballots distributed at the polls at the public expense. What more certain way of reform- ing the primaries could be devised than this ? If there were such a law in New York City there would be an end to the astonishing spectacle which is there so often presented of a "boss " setting up a candidate of his own for office in spite of all protests, and frequently electing him in spite of all opposition. Under such a law both "bosses" and primaries would in a very short time lose their present dominance in our politics. In fact, there is scarcely a form of iniquity known to our election methods which a good ballot law would not eradicate. We should be rid at one stroke of the assessments upon candidates, of the bribing and bull- VoL. XXXVII.— 44. dozing of voters, of the nomination of notoriously un- fit candidates, of "deals "and " dickers " and " trades " at the polls. All these would disappear, for the simple reason that the machinery of elections would be taken out of the hands of irresponsible and often dishonest men. Such an obvious and imperative reform as this cannot be long delayed. Should there be an " Aristocracy of Criminals " ? The prisons of the State of New York at present furnish a very impressive object-lesson in political " economy," or perhaps it may better be said, in polit- ical extravagance. In order that it may be fairly under- stood it must be approached from the standpoint of a few very plain and generally acknowledged proposi- tions. They are : 1. That the prisons belong to the whole people. 2. That the prison system is maintained for the pro- tection of society against the criminal. 3. That society is never fully protected against the criminal so long as he remains a criminal. 4. That the criminal remains a criminal until he dies or is reformed. 5. That no criminal is likely to cease to be a crimi- nal until he has the ability and the inclination to earn his own living. 6. That the fact of a man being a criminal does not release him from the obligation of earning his own liv- ing; it gives him no right to support at the expense of the honest tax-payer. 7. That no criminal can earn his own living without working for it. 8. That no criminal can acquire the habit of industry and the ability to earn his own living without working to do it. 9. That since the prisons belong to the whole peo- ple, and not to any trade or class, all the interests and responsibilities in the prisons should be planned with reference to the whole people, and not for the benefit of any particular trade or class. 10. That the whole people demand in the penal sys- tem the maximum of protection at the minimum of cost to the tax-payer. 11. («) That the maximum of protection can only be attained when the prisoner is taught to be self-sustain- ing. (^) That the criminal cannot be taught to be self- sustaining unless he be made to work. 12. {a) That the minimum of cost can only be at- tained by making the prisoner as nearly self-support- ing as is possible, {b) That the prisoner cannot be self-supporting unless he work for his living. 13. That idleness in our prisons increases the ex- pense of the prisons to the maximum and reduces protection to society to the minimum, thus inflicting a wrong on every honest tax-payer. 14. That all taxes come ultimately from the earn- ings of the laborer. 15. That the honest laborer, in demanding the idle- ness of the criminals in prison, simply insists upon the minimum of protection at the maximum of cost, and further insists upon paying a large part of the cost himself. These propositions, if grouped with the statement that all the prisoners in the New York prisons are idle, hardly need comment. In many of the other States 314 TOPICS OF THE TIME. of the Union the same conditions exist that have brought about the passage of the Yates prison bill, the law that has thrown our prisons into this frightful state of demoralization. The demand was made by the so-called labor-reform leaders for a reduction in the competition of prison labor with free labor. The Yates bill was the result. While allowing hand labor in the prisons, it prohibits the sale of all prison prod- ucts, and demands that the prisoners shall only work in supplying the needs of the State institutions. This would furnish labor to not more than one-twentieth of those incarcerated in our penal institutions. The act was "to lake effect immediately"; and it has taken effect. To-day in our New York State prisons, and worst of all in the Elmira Reformatory, the shops are closed, the men are locked in their cells, they have ceased to earn their own living, the idleness that has already cursed their lives has fallen upon their lives again ; they have nothing to do but to brood over their criminal exploits of the past and to plan criminal acts for the future. They will go out of prison in the same hopeless and helpless condition in which they entered it. They will go out as they came in — criminals. They will continue to prey upon society, and all the more successfully because of the criminal associations that they have formed in the idle hours of their imprison- ment. In the mean while honest laborers may have the satisfaction of knowing that a man has only to be caught in committing a burglary or in robbing a bank to demand support from their earnings. Every shoemaker, and hatter, and tailor, and day laborer in this State is to-day paying his share in the support of the fifteen thousand criminals in our penal institutions ; and the laborer is paying the larger part. He may not directly pay the increased taxes, but inso- much as his employer's and his landlord's taxes are raised, insomuch will his wages be reduced, his house rent increased. And not only so, but when the crim- inal that the workman has been supporting comes out of prison, he will be a greater menace to the honest laborer's safety than when he went into prison. By his futile attempt to save the small fraction of a cent on his day's wages, the workman has increased the chances of ha.ving his earnings stolen, and multiplied the dangers that encompass his life and property. It will of course be said by the friends of the Yates bill that when it is fully in operation it will not pre- vent systematic labor in the prisons. But one has only to glance at the law to see that it is entirely out of harmony with the spirit of the age. It forbids the use of machinery in prisons; and even the few prisoners who under the full operation of the law may be allowed to work go out, with only some old-time handicraft by which to earn a support, into a world that lives by machinery. It forbids the sale of prison products, but it does not prohibit the purchase of supplies from the outside world. As there are no earnings, all sup- plies must be purchased by the public funds, which, of course, finally come out of the pockets of those whose unscrupulous leaders made this law. This law passed through a Republican legislature as a purely political measure. It was signed by a Demo- cratic governor. It will be remembered hereafter as the most expensive prison law the State has ever known. It opens up immeasurable opportunities for corruption and theft. When the intelligent working-man stops, to think of the inevitable results of thi^Jaw, he should call to account every man who has had a part in its origin, or its passage, or its signature ; he should never permit these men to pose as the friends of labor and the la- borer. Nqman is a friend to the laborer who leads him to do an injustice, or who puts an additional burden on his already overburdened shoulders. A Confusion in American Party Names. A CONFUSION exists in America in the use of party names which arises in part from the Constitution of the American Union — from the existence of States within the state. No merely local elections in England, for instance, are so important as our State elections. The local policy and local morality of the two leading parties as differentiated by the State communities are' constantly varying north, south, east, and west. In one State, as in one city, one of the great party names may be used by a trading clique or a venal majority for unworthy purposes. In another State, as in an- other city, the other great party name may be in like manner degraded. Meantime the two great parties of the nation enunciate and act out their respective poli- cies in the national conventions and in the legislative and executive branches of the General Government. This condition of affairs has often a most unfortunate effect. Men of ability and of a fair amount of civic virtue are constantly being crippled in their public usefulness by being falsely and mischievously com- mitted, against their clear convictions and better im- pulses, either to the local branch of a party through their approval of the same party's national principles, or to the national policy of a party through their ap- proval of the so-called same party's local action. The finest contempt of the professional party-manipulator is reserved for the freeman who stands up for good local government, municipal or State, under whatever party name it may be offered, and stands up with equal deter- mination for what he conceives to be good government in the nation, under whatever party name that govern- ment may be at the time best attained, even if he finds himself consorting on a State or a municipal issue with one party and on a national issue with another. But the "free and independent" voter is a better citizen than the voter who is dazzled or intimidated by banners, badges, and words without meaning. There is no sincerity in the partisan abuse showered upon such a voter. The abuse is meaiit to produce the effect of trepidation upon the man who sees clearly and votes straight to the mark every time. But year by year the trepidation is less apparent, and the par- tisan scolding more of a sham. The greatest scolds are notoriously partisans who have themselves scratched and bolted whenever it was their interest or pleasure to do so. The time appears to be approaching when he will be regarded as a poor creature indeed who is gov- erned in his voting for municipal. State, or national candidates by the good or the ill opinion of some other person, rather than by his own conscientious convic- tions. If the " whipper-in " should permanently suc- ceed, and voting at all elections should be a matter of precedent, habit, or domination of mere party names, it would be time to despair of the republican experi- ment in the New World. The caucus and the boss would have supplanted free, representative government. OPEN LETTERS. Political Corruption. THERE is a certain feeling of satisfaction for us in finding out that politicians show the same vices in other countries that they exhibit in our own. In France the canker of political corruption has eaten its way into the innermost circle. It is true that democ- racies are peculiarly liable to this evil, and for this reason, that in them the highest places are open to men whose sense of honor has not been educated. Man is, zoologically speaking, a dishonest animal. St. Paul knew this when he said that " the love of money is the root of all evil," and Pope must have recognized the fact when he wrote the line, " An honest man 's the noblest work of God." A polite education does much towards curbing the natural tendency; but such an education cannot be given to the whole male popula- tion, and hence can have little effect in a democracy. Must our Government then be forever honey- combed with corruption ? If so, we had better admit that it is a failure, and suspend our contract-labor stat- ute for the purpose of importing the Czar at once. But no ! We can face and overcome the evil. We have sup- pressed slavery. We are engaged in fighting the liquor traffic, and look forward to substantial results. We must take up the question of bribery in the same spirit. Our people are capable of great enthusiasm on moral subjects. Our thanks are due to the Abolition- ists and the Prohibitionists for showing the deep moral sense of the community. We need some fanatics on the question of honesty. The moral sense of the peo- ple is well developed on the side of — what shall we call it ? — physical morality. Our religious teachers do a great work for sobriety and chastity and all the do- mestic virtues. But for some reason or other we fall short on the side of the doctrine of meum et iiium. We cannot allow American honesty to take its place in history beside Punic faith. We must call to life the latent virtue of our people and sweep the curse away. It would of course be impossible, if it were desirable, to change our form of government for the purpose of attaining this end. Pope says : For forms of government let fools contest ; Whate'er is best administered is best. We have outgrown such theoretical teaching. The masses prefer to govern themselves ill rather than that others should govern them well. Government nowadays must meet the wishes, rather than the wants, of the people. It must give the greatest satisfaction, not the greatest good, to the greatest number. We must take things as they are and seek a remedy com- patible with universal suffrage. Now there are three principal ways in which we can proceed. We can punish the briber and the bribe- taker, we can diminish the number of opportunities for bribery, and we can educate the people so that they will rise above it. The enforcement of the penal laws is probably our weakest refuge. The desire for money outweighs the perils of the law. While the trial of an alderman for bribery was in progress in our court- house, the Board of Aldermen was reveling in the same kind of corruption in the City Hall. We can in many cases take away the opportunities for bribery. We have an example of this method in the general laws under which corporations can be formed without applying to the legislature. A statute requiring all proposed acts to be filed and published before the meeting of the legislature would go far towards pre- venting corrupt legislation. The Australian system of voting will discourage bribery at the polls. But it is in education that we can hope for the best results. The remedy must go "to the root of the dis- ease. We must begin in the public schools. This ed- ucation should take two forms : it should show the pupil that bribery is an injury to the public and to him, so that he will oppose it by his vote ; and then it should go further and raise his character, so that he would not himself give or accept a bribe. A simple text-book could cover the ground, teaching the fundamental facts of taxation, viz., that the landlord adds his taxes to the rent of his rooms, and the grocer includes them in the price of his groceries ; and that in this way the poor pay the bulk of our taxes. It could shov/ that every bribe paid to a public officer for a privilege or a franchise should have gone to the reduction of taxa- tion, and hence to the reduction of rents and prices. What a strange state of affairs is presented by the re- sults of our elections in the city of New York ! The assemblymen and aldermen who represent the wealthi- est constituents, including the directors and stockhold- ers of corporations, are usually honest men, who will not vote for a bad measure for all the inducements which a corporation can offer. The tenement-house districts, on the other hand, are apt to select men who pose as friends of the laboring man, and yet as soon as they are elected become the tools of the moneyed in- stitution which bids highest. Many of their constitu- ents knoM^ this, and would consider them fools if they did not make something out of the legislative and al- dermanic "business." These foolish electors are not unlike the two flunkeys in Cruikshank's picture. One says to the other, " What is taxes, Thomas ? " and Thomas answers, " I 'm sure I don't know," and the scene is entitled, "Where ignorance is bliss." But for our voting population ignorance is not bliss. It ought to be easy to teach these voters that they are putting their worst enemies into power, and handing the government over to what Mr. Roosevelt has aptly called the " wealthy criminal classes." The press can do great good in educating the public on these sub- jects, and it has already given valuable assistance in its recent attacks on bribery. Our newspapers must cease, however, to treat this crime as if it were a laughing matter. The other part of education — the moral elevation of the person — is, to be sure, the noblest method. It can be partly accomplished in the public schools, but their teaching should be supplemented by the church. 3i6 OPEN LETTERS. The task is by no means hopeless. The bribe-taking alderman, the bribe-giving director, will not pick your pocket. Can they not be taught to regard these acts as alike? It is largely a matter of education. We have heard a man inveigh against political dishonesty while he wore a suit of clothes which he had smuggled through the custom-house. No lesson can be more important than that which teaches us to distinguish accurately between honesty and dishonesty. A proper regard for truth and honesty is the fundamental virtue. A nation of drunkards would be Utopia itself in com- parison with a nation of cheats, and the character of a nation cannot be better than that of the individuals who compose it. But let us come to the practical suggestion to which all the above is prelude. Why should we not establish an American Society for the Promotion of Political Honesty ? Such an association could have branches in all our prominent cities. It could have committees on the enforcement of penal laws, on legislation, on education. It could exert its influence through the press and through our school boards. Before long it would gain the fear, if not the respect, of our political parties, and the movement once begun v/ould not end until political corruption had ceased to be a national sin. Ernest H. Crosby. Another Side of the "Woman's Work Question. It is a cheering sign for the great army of women who are obliged to earn their livelihood, that the " woman question " is being agitated in the light of woman's work. The question of what she is paid; of what she ought to be paid ; of what she does ; and, above all, ** What shall she do ? " is filling our papers and our councils. But there is a side which, it seems to me, as a prac- tical working and self-supporting M'^oman, is very little considered. This is the question, " How does she do it, and how should it be done? " It is my belief, strengthened by experience and observation, as well as by conversations with those who look at the question from a practical and business point of view rather than from a sentimental one, that one great drawback to woman's success in the business world — I mean equal success with man — is in her want of thoroughness, both in preparation for her work and in carrying it out. Women generally, as a mass, look upon self-support and labor as a thing to be avoided, and, only too often, to be ashamed of. It is a melan- choly comment upon this assertion that, in the recent census in one of our large cities, the house-to-house census declared that the number of women who earned their living or were engaged in some daily, wage-earning avocation was only about half of that which the census of the female employees in business houses and factories declared. Can woman complain that she is not considered equal with man in the wage- earning world, if she herself takes so little interest and pride in her work that she denies it ? The truth is, that woman, en masse, has for so short a time been supporting herself in any way which takes her out of the seclusion of the household that she is, en masse, ashamed of it. Of course, there are many noble exceptions, but the exceptions themselves will acknowledge the truth of the assertion. This being the fact, is it to be sup- posed that woman can claim the same regard as a wage-earning factor as if she took the pride in her work that a man does ? Man has hundreds of years the advantage of us : he has the hereditary business instinct and training, the wholesome pride in honest work which comes from tradition and custom ; and therefore he is that much more valuable than the woman who merely takes it up as a makeshift till she can be supported by some one else, or who has never given any thought to the subject, and so drudges on, poorly paid, but still, perhaps, paid as much as she is worth. That there are thousands of ill-paid women, there can be no question or shadow of a doubt. But is not this rather because these thousands of women only do work which requires no skill beyond that possessed by every other woman ; which requires no special training, and which, if she abandons it, any other woman can do as well ? The woman physician is as well paid as the man. I know a woman who is a dentist who makes moie than most men in the profession. The woman who is an author, a painter, an actress, or a singer is as well paid as a man of equal talent and opportunity. To go lower in the scale of talent, the dressmaker, the milliner, the skilled female worker in our factories, is paid on the average as well as the male. A woman who is a good weaver is well paid; and while I am open to correc- tion on this point, my understanding is that in all mill work, where skill and knowledge of the business is necessary, the woman operative is almost as well paid as the men engaged in the same work. She is at least recognized in labor unions and in strikes. That there is, and naturally will be, the slight difference in the pay given which comes from the man having been so long in the field is a thing which will right itself only in time. But I would say, Let a girl feel that it is as natural and praisevv'orthy for her to earn her living as that her brother should ; that if she would be as well paid as her brother she must be willing to give the same time, attention, eftbrt, and endeavor to make herself a success and valuable to her employer as her brother does. Shemust be //^^n??/^/z. Any woman can measure a yard of muslin or can hand out books from a circu- lating library, any woman can work a sewing-machine ; and any woman who does these things in the way that they are ordinarily done is as well paid as her brother who does the same things in the same way, and is so often contemptuously called a " counter-jumper." The men who earn good salaries as retail salesmen are men who, by years of attention to the qualities of goods and the desires of the market, combined with an amount of tact Vv^hich would do credit to a successful diplomat, have made themselves a place which is open to every woman v/ho will devote the same number of years of patient endeavor and ability. There are some such women, and they are well paid. Let a woman devote to this branch of business the amount of tact, finesse, patience, and taste which she doubtless pos- sesses to a greater degree than a man, and she will almost always succeed. I have said that the great trouble with this matter of woman's labor and woman's pay is that women do OPEN LETTERS. 317 not take up things which are in themselves valuable, nor do they give such effort to make themselves thor- oughly valuable as men do. In regard to the first of these statements, it may be said that business is busi- ness. There can be no sentimentality in it. The law of supply and demand is inexorable. If there are twenty or fifty women to fill a position which any one of them can fill as well as another, no one of them will be well paid. In regard to the second, men make a study of their business, as a thing with which they wish to support themselves and their prospective or actual families — as a means to wealth. A woman, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, takes some busi- ness which will enable her to help herself till she mar- ries. The hundredth woman is the well-paid one. Here lies the great trouble. Every woman, or nearly every v/oman, looks upon labor as an evil to be borne as lightly as possible till it can be shouldered upon a man. And at last, some sad day, she wakes up to a realization of the fact that there are not enough men to go around, and that she is stranded on the shore of low- waged incompetency. Some then make a noble strug- gle and retrieve their lost ground; and this is the rea- son that nearly all the well-paid women in our stores are those who by reason of their years have come to a realizing sense that probably no man will ever support them, and that they must carry the load themselves. As to that sad and weary army of sewing women, whose toil and hard lot brings tears to our eyes, it is mostly made up of those women who have never learned any real business ; who have married, and, left widowed with little children to care for, and not the means to embark in that other weary business of boarding-house keep- ing, are obliged to take to that one thing which they as well as thousands of other women can do. They are forever handicapped. Women do not usually — I say it with regret — put their hearts into their work as men do. They look upon it as a temporary affair, and so — as I have been told by both men and women who employ both men and women — they are not worth as much as a man, who wants to stick at the work. There is but one remedy for this. As I have said be- fore, let our young women and girls be taught that it is as necessary for them to know how to earn their liv- ings with some true business as it is for their brothers. Do not bring them up to believe that marriage is the aim of a woman's life any more than it is of a man's, or that it is more honorable and dignified than work. Let them learn one of the hundred real trades or employ- ments which women can learn ; let them feel that the better they can do their work the more account they will be in the world and the more respected ; that they should put their whole hearts into their employment and make themselves valuable as Avorking factors, leaving marriage to come or not as they and fate will; and then, and not till then, they will become as valuable working factors as men, who already do all this. There is always room and good pay at the top. Value will command value, and a dollar's worth will generally bring a dollar. (I must niake one parenthesis and one exception here, and that is with regard to the respective pay of men and women teachers. That the discrepancy in this is as great as it is unjust I do not pretend to deny ; and the only reason I can give for it, according to my view, is, that there are too many women who wish to be teachers. It is the great refuge for every woman who has a fair education and wishes to earn her living in a " genteel " manner. The market is glutted with women teachers.) As I have said before, man has the advantage of possession ; life is the survival of the fittest ; and since man has the vantage ground, only those women who are armed with the same weapons, have the same de- termination to succeed and the same stake to lose, will gain the same footing. I do not mean to accuse man of any more injustice than comes of this struggle for life ; as I have said, business is business. No man pays for anything more than he is compelled to pay. Let our girls become really thorough saleswomen, both wholesale and retail, even if it comes to traveling; let them practically learn printing, engraving, designing, light cabinet-work, stenography, book-keeping, watch- making, goldsmithing, dressmaking (at which the prac- tical woman sometimes makes "a fortune) — any of the hundreds of things for which their nimble and delicate fingers, native wit and taste, quick perceptions and faith- ful perseverance, fit them, and let them learn it as a busi- ness, thoroughly, honorably, with the determination to be first-class workwomen, and soon they will share the pay as v/ell as the work of men. And believe me, our girl will be no less fitted to be a good, loving wife and mother, if she sees fit to marry; and she will not be driven into a thoughtless marriage to escape the drudg- ery of earning the pittance which will not support her, nor of making a sacrifice which is generally con- sidered to be even more disgraceful than that. Think of this, you who bemoan the thousands of unhappy marriages and the frequency of divorce. And if she is left, as so many women are left, with children de- pending on her for support, she is in no worse condi- tion than the widower who is left with them to care for. Think of this, you who may be widows. I will say here that men have objected to this idea, saying that if women are self-supporting they will not care to marry. Surely, I reply, if a man depends upon his money alone to attract and keep, the time has ar- rived when woman should compel him to make him- self worthy of her love and her possession. There are many bright instances where women have met and understood this condition of affairs, and have gone to work like men and made themselves valuable. They have something which they can do better than other women and as well as a man. And I am glad to say that my experience has been that such women are admired, appreciated, and valued. As one old busi- ness man said to me, " If you want a faithful, trust- worthy employee, have a woman who understands her business." Woman has every element of success in her ; teach her to bring it to bear on the situation. L. E. Holniaii. Home Rule and Culture. Should the hoped-for " Reorganization of the Brit- ish Empire" include "Home Rule" for Ireland, with representation in the Imperial Parliament, not the least interesting of the phenomena following it in Ireland will be the revival of national culture, especially in fine and industrial art. Travelers in Switzerland, in 3i8 OPEN LETTERS. Germany, in Italy, in France, and in Belgium are per- plexed in the museums by Gaelic manuscripts, many of them delicately illuminated, concerning which the custodians or catalogues make scant explanation. At Oxford and in the British Museum, in various public and private collections in Dublin, are beautiful evi- dences that the arts of design M^ere early associated with the classical and sacred volumes which the Irish schol- ars, driven from their native haunts, carried away with them. In decorative art, in architecture, in sculpture, and in the manipulation of metals, Ireland has an ob- scured history that makes more pathetic her long intel- lectual death. While Western Europe sank into dark- ness a twilight of learning and of art activity prevailed in Ireland ; but when the glory of the Renaissance gradually spread over the Continent and extended its mild radiance to England, war and penal statutes had destroyed the vestiges of culture in Ireland. Her churches, ark-shaped, with plain or twisted pil- lars and round-headed windows in incised moldings ; with interiors in which simple dignity is warmed by modest ornament ; her bells and bell shrines, her chal- ices and crosiers, her book-covers and book-cases, showing that her artists were expert in filigree and in damasking, in 7'epousse and enamel, both cloisomie and chavipleves ; her belfries, towers, and duns; her clasps and mosaics, glass engraving and gem mount- ing, of which authentic examples are cherished illus- trating the skill of the country from the fifth century to the fourteenth — all serve only to make more deplor- able the decadence of a people whom penal laws so depressed that when the present monarch reached the throne three-fourths of the natives could neither read nor write. The sturdy commercial industry of Ireland which appeared during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had been as ruthlessly destroyed by statutes scientifically contrived in the interest of English rivals. To-day the shops of the Irish cities are filled with the manufactures of English towns. There is no consid- erable native production, except linen. All the arts of design have long been dead. The happiest as well as the most trustworthy symp- tom in the Home Rule movement is that its growth has been parallel with the resuscitation of intelligence. The penal laws expired in 1829. The national schools were officially opened in 1 832, With a population of 7,000,000 the enrollment was only 100,000, so long were the masses of the people accustomed to the conviction that education was felonious. Each succeeding decade has found the enrollment increased ; and when it now reaches its maximum of more than 1,000,000 in a pop- ulation of less than 5,000,000, — the highest in propor- tion to population of all countries, not even excepting our own, — the demand for Home Rule is found also at its maximum. More than three-fourths of the repre- sentatives chosen to speak for Ireland in Westminster have cast for three years a solid vote for the restora- tion of the national legislature. That this demand will be acceded to, no student oT the English mode of dealing with modern political problems can doubt. The feud, political, religious, ethnical, that has raged for centuries, will cease. Good-will will become a habit of the English and Irish people towards each other. With the fixity of that habit we may look with confi- dence for a revival of culture in Ireland which will be found especially attractive in fine and industrial art. Since the abolition of the Irish Parliament in 1800 there has been no native authority for the appropria- tion of revenue. During the same period England has become thoroughly aroused to the necessity of encour- aging science and art. Availing herself of the fifty thousand volumes and the hundreds of cases of natural history left by Hans Sloane, a native of Ireland, she founded the British Museum. Later in the century she spent half a million dollars on the National Gallery, and has annually bestowed upon it a liberal allowance. The South Kensington Museum, the National Portrait Gal- lery, and the India Museum are all of comparatively recent origin, and have cost the treasury millions for their foundation and support. Museums of art have been opened in the provincial towns, supported in part by corporate, in part by private, and in part, indi- rectly, by Parliamentary aid. The efi"ect of Kensington and other training schools upon the industry of Eng- land has been such that last year a leading French authority cried out that if France did not bestir herself England would take from her the markets of the world, which the superior technic and taste of the French designers have monopolized for a century, or since the establishment of art schools throughout France. Parliament expended last year upon the science and art of England nearly $5,000,000, and upon science and art in Ireland less than $300,000, one-half of this being only for buildings. Would not an Irish Parliament deal more wisely with Irish art and Irish manufactures ? England has used Irish talent for her own profit with sagacity and success. Her art owes much to James Barry and Sir Martin Shee — neither a first-class painter, but both admirable instructors and critics. When the Queen makes her progress to open or to prorogue Parliament, she passes through a national gal- lery the sides of which are frescoed by Maclise. In music Ireland claims Balfe and Wallace. In philosophy Boyle and Berkeley, Thompson and Tyndall, are hers, Moore obtained no attention until he tuned his dulcet lyre to praise a Prince of Wales; and Lecky is popu- larly classified as English with as little hesitation as a Burke, a Sheridan, a Goldsmith, a Philip Francis. There is a spurious and a lofty patriotism. There is a true and a false nationalism. It ought to be possible for the genius of the Irish people to express its individ- uality, as it was possible for that of Greece, for that of Venice ; and that individuality is as genuine and char- acteristic as we believe American nationality to be. Under the beneficent operation of home rule and the permanent adjustment of the relations of England and Ireland on a political basis of justice and mutual friend- ship, we shall see the arts and industries of Ireland flourishing, encouraged by her own legislature ; and her men and women of genius, no longer expatriated, working with love and confidence upon the noblest problems of her destiny. Margaret F. Sullivan. The Holt Method of Teaching Music. BY A TEACHER. The Holt system, so rapidly growing in favor throughout the United States, differs very widely from most others in that it presents the " music end " first. This mistake has been made in teaching music — the names of the characters representing music have BRIC-A-BRAC. 319 been taught first, instead of music itself. To little children, and even to children of a larger growth, it is dry and uninteresting; but if we reverse the process and teach nnisic first and the names of characters inci- dentally, the work will be a constant delight and much valuable time will be saved. Mr. Holt does not claim to have invented anything, but simply to have discovered that the educational prin- ciples which underlie the true teaching of any other subject can be applied to music. He has discovered a method of presentation according to such principles so that any one having teaching ability can successfully lead even the little child of five years to a surprising knowledge of music, provided only that the teacher has at the outset the musical ability to sing the scale. In order to become a musical nation we must have music taught in the public schools, and the daily work must be done by the regular teachers with special su- pervision at certain intervals. The only rote lesson in the whole course is the first — the teaching of the scale which is taken as the unit of thought in tune. Aside from this there is no im.itation. It is a system of much thinking. Tune and time are taught separately, the whole measure being taken as the unit in tiiiie. Mr. Holt has studied what not to teach, and has stripped music of the technicalities and enigmas which have been a bugbear to so many. He has shown — and we have proved it in our own schools — that it is as easy for children to read in one key as in another. There are no difficulties in the represen- tation of music. One strong point is that we teach prac- tically but one scale in different positions. The syllables are used simply as a means to an end, and are dropped as soon as we can do without them. They are valuable in elementary work if used within certain limits ; otherwise, they become a hinderance. It can only be said that their use is better than none, since they bring up quickly the characteristic quality of the intervals. In that all music is written upon the basis of tone relation and the syllables used help the mind to grasp the idea of this relation of sounds, the " mov- able do-\%X.?> " seem to have a little the stronger side of the argument. Try It is easier to sing the 3, 2, i as "mi, re, do" than in any other way. The change of syllable gives the im- pression connected with the syllable. Until you think of the ^ as "3," you are still in the other key. Mary L. Lewis. Herbert Spencer. The August Century contained a powerful article from the pen of Dr. Lyman Abbott on " The Pulpit for To-day." Its lesson — a much needed one — was given with the force of poetic beauty ; but in it the learned preacher says, " The materialism that threat- ens the American Church is not the materialism of Herbert Spencer"' — implying, of course, that Herbert Spencer is a materialist. The truth is that Mr. Spencer has furnished the most complete demonstration of the utter fallaciousness of materialism in its proper sense. The only materialism chargeable against Herbert Spencer is that of urging as the first duty of all to pro- vide for their sustenance ; and that is a materialism from which there is no escape, as even Dr. Abbott himself observes. Every truth proclaimed by Dr. Abbott has been stated, and all its consequences have been developed, by Herbert Spencer with scientific exactness and with a logical power which has not, and never had, a parallel. He also has given to the preacher an unansvv^erable, philosophic basis for his labor. Dr. Abbott says, " It cannot be expected in such a paper as this that I should attempt to unfold a Christian sociology," Herbert Spencer has attempted a scientific sociology, and the scientific world generally concedes that he has suc- ceeded. And this sociology is so far Christian that Dr. Abbott might have enforced all his good lessons by reference to it. Again, in his quotation from De Tocqueville, Dr. Abbott, leaving " that question " " to the reflection of the reader," might have added that Mr. Spencer had reflected on it to considerable conse- quence, as he has also on the questions of education and labor, to which Dr. Abbott also refers with much pertinence. It will be noticed that I write merely to correct the misleading reference of Dr. Abbott's article, not to take any issue with it. Indeed, as I have said above, I ad- mire the great beauty and I commend the great use- fulness of the lesson it conveys. What it offers under each of its heads I believe to be valuable truths. Dr. Abbott says very beautifully that " Whether a people diverse in race, religion, and industry can live happily and prosperously together, with no other law than the invisible law of right and wrong, and no other authority than the unarmed authority of con- science, is the question which America has to solve for the world." America is not yet practically engaged in solving that problem ; but that she will solve it, and that the world will benefit by the fullness of the solution, is the faith of Herbert Spencer and his followers. M. H. BRIC-A-BRAC. Noblesse Oblige. A. D, 760. S' ^AID Short Pepin, aloud Before the awe-struck crowd : ** Rebel ! betrayer of trust ! Whom word of mine can bring to the dust, O Count that you are, O Magnifico ! Who made you so? " Said the Count of Perigord, With fingers tapping his sword. Eyeballs merry as wine, And proud as hid jewels in the mine : " Come, Sire, don't quibble with the thing! Who made you King ? " Louise Lmogen Guiney 320 BRIC-A-BRAC. Joy Doubled. I SING as sings the bird On yonder branchlet swinging; It is not that the song be heard, But for the joy of singing. And yet, if there chance by, Or hap to linger nigh, Who listens to my lay. Then with a heart less troubled Goes bravely forth to meet the day, The joy of song is doubled. Jjdia Anna IVolcotL The Song of Songs. I 'm a man thet 's fond o' music, An' w'en folks are not eround, I kin make our old accorjun Squeak a mighty takin' sound ; An' thet banjer hangin' yander, With its gentle plink, plank, plink, 'Pyears to git plumb at the bottom Of the deepes' thoughts I think. Does me heaps o' good on Sundays 'Tor' the pray'r at church is said, Jes to stand an' hyear " Old Hunderd" Soarin' fur up overhead ! An' I 'most kin spy the angels Leanin' 'crost the gate up thar. When old Abrum Blackburn's darter Leads us in " Sweet Your o' Pray'r." But ef you sh'u'd want to see me W'en I hev my broades' smile, You must ketch me in the kitchen, W'en the kittle 's on the bile ! Fer I claim thar ain't no v/arblin' Ever riz on red- birds' wings Thet kin holt a taller candle To the song the kittle sings. Seems ez ef my soul gits meller In the kittle's first sweet note. Till I fancy weddin' music Screakin' f 'om the iron th'oat. Sech times, ef I squent my eyes up, I kin fahly 'pyear to see Old man Abrum Blackburn's darter Smilin' thoo the steam at me ! Eva Wilder McGlasson. Anti-Climax. Breathless the audience sat; Dozens of women were crying; The cruel Moor had done his worst, And Desdemona was dying. How beautifully she died ! One last fond look at her lover. Then the blue eyes closed on his swarthy face, As he wrathfuUy stood above her. A silence that could be felt Followed — it really was freezing ! Then — a ripple of laughter stirred the house. For Desdemona was sneezing! The Moor was in earnest now ; His face made a darkness round it ; But no one but Desdemona heard His low, intense " Confound it ! " Margaret Vandegrift. To J. AV. R. ON ATTAINING POPULARITY. Singing arfd whistling on his woodland way. We thought we heard a happy, careless boy Filling the forest with a sound of joy As leafy aisles prolonged each early lay. The rustling of the silken ranks of corn. The cry of swimmers in the shady pool, Sweet, moonlight trysts in evenings calm and cool, And orchard fragrance on his songs were borne. Now, in the open glade, take your own place That waits beneath the greenwood tree of song! Welcome from those who did not judge you wrong, But said, " A singer," ere they saw his face. Take up your reed and charm us once again ! Happy the land where minstrel notes repeat In newer measures, wild and fresh and sweet. The simple themes whose beauty cannot wane. The scenes of toil, the restful hours of peace, The cabin idyls, prairie gloom and glow, Make lilt and sing till all the folk shall know And tell them to the children at their knees ! Aye, pipe and sing each new surprising lay, And plaudits new if with a greater joy You fill the ears you pleased when, like a boy. You sang and whistled on your woodland way ! C. H. Crandall. Aphorisms from the Study. Some one should preach a sermon on the bad taste of pursuing good taste too exclusively. The philosopher's trouble is that while he can give fifty years to evaluating life impartially, life has spent several thousand years in shaping his prejudices. In moments of decision there is danger of mistak- ing the exhaustion of long spiritual struggle for resig- nation to fate. We talk of immortality, but we even do not know yet what time is. Perhaps time has possibilities that dwarf immortality, and we are fooling ourselves with the poorer choice. Let us have the very best. If Heaven should grant one more gift to this coun- try, the mistake would not be great were it a more sa- cred observance of parentage. Faith, like any virtue, must have its test, and proba- bly the reason for inexplicable evil. An optimist is an unreflective individual with nerves at concert pitch. Xenos Clark. A Baker'z Duzzen uv Wize Sawz. Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them ez wants, must choose, ez hez, must lose, ez knows, won't blab, ez guesses, will gab. ez borrows, sorrows, ez lends, spends, ez gives, lives, ez keeps dark, is deep, ez kin earn, kin keep, ez aims, hits, ez hez, gits, ez waits, win. ez will, kin. E. R. Sill. THE UE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK. HEAD OF CHRIST, BY GIOTTO. (DETAIL FROM "CHRIST BEFORE tAIAPHAS " FRESCO IN THE CHAPEL OF THE ARKNA, PADUA.) The Century Magazine. Vol. XXXVII. JANUARY, 1889. No. 3. GIOTTO. (born 1276, DIED 1336.) UMABUE'S claim to be the restorer of art I have said to be unjustifiable if that term is to be taken in the full sense. I admit it only so far as he was the master and judicious trainer of Giotto in those sound tech- nical traditions which enabled the pupil to at- tain to that supreme felicity and facility which make the master in art. The precocity of the child Giotto which attracted the attention of Cimabue as recounted in the tradition of the first interview is, if true, nothing uncommon in children, and is rarely the indication of serious talent. As a legend it remains because the popular mind loves legends and marvels ; but the more probable history is told by a com- mentator of Dante, that the boy was sent to a wool-worker to learn that trade, but on the way used to stop at Cimabue's workshop. One day the father went to the wool- worker to in- quire how the boy was getting on, and learned that he played truant from the service he was sent to and had not been seen for many days. So, taking counsel from Cimabue, the father changed his son's vocation. This story is bet- ter and more conformed to the qualities of art than that of his precocious use of the slate and pencil before he had seen anything of art. Vasari was fond of fables and what was most marvelous ; he accepted whatever stories 1 This is preserved in a picture from Pompeii now in the Naples Museum, which, however it may be degraded from the Greek original, still justifies the opinion I express. Copyright, 1888, by THE Ceni were current in his time and made them part of his record. How the boy prospered with Cimabue, Va- sari does not tell us, save briefly that he " not only equaled his master, but became so good an imitator of nature that he broke up that grotesque Greek manner and revived the mod- ern and good art of painting, introducing the drawing well of living persons, which for more than two hundred years had not been exercised." This expression is curious as showing that even in the time of Vasari it was understood that painting had only been sleeping, and that in the eleventh century it had had a healthy de- velopment, and that Giotto had revived it {re- suscito). But Giotto was more than a restorer. He did indeed break up completely the close prescription from which Cimabue even never escaped ; and while he still held fast to the purely decorative side of Byzantine art, as we may see in the decorative work between and around the separate pictures in the Arena Chapel in Padua, he introduced into the art a dramatic element hitherto unknown, save by some doubtful tradition of perished Greek pic- tures, where its presence must have been excep- tional, as in the case recorded in the history of classical art of the sacrifice of Iphigenia when the father, unwilling to see the consumma- tion of the sacrifice, wraps his head in his cloak.i But this case, celebrated in all classical tradition, bears no comparison to the full, ever- present, and intense imaginative power of Giotto. The veiling of the head by the Greek painter was probably due quite as much to the inability of the artist to master the expression URY Co. All rights reserved. 324 GIOTTO. of the face as to dramatic feeling. He was used simply to the embodiment of types which, like those of the early Christian art, were as prescriptive as were the masks of tragedy and comedy on the stage. The preservation of the type was antagonistic to the quality of dramatic expression, which, until Giotto, was, so far as we know, entirely obscured. It is absurd to say, as Ruskin does, that Giotto had nothing to learn in art of the men who came after him : the extravagant eulo- gium falls pointless when we consider that it was only two hundred years later that color, the highest attainment in art, as harmony is in music, began to be reduced to its definite ex- pression. Giotto rejoiced in vivid color and made it a more important element of decora- tive effect than it had ever been before ; but as it was known to the great Venetians, even to Bellini, Giotto had no conception of it, and it probably needed the modified processes of oil painting to enable the painter to work it out — the processes employed by Giotto and all his predecessors and contemporaries, of tempera or fresco, not lendmg themselves to the highest development of color effect,^ and perhaps not leading to its study. If Ruskin had said that what Giotto lacked of the qualities of his successors was of no value to him (Ruskin), he may have told all the truth ; but we have long known that Rus- kin's ideals of art are very far removed from those which the best modern artists maintain, and that to some of the rarest qualities of Vene- tian and even of later art he is absolutely insen- sible. Giotto's color is not essentially different from that of his time. Pale and simple tints dominate throughout, and it is clear that the picture was intended to aid as far as possible in keeping the churches light and to be clearly seen and understood in the building, dimly illu- minated at the best, where it was painted. The relation to the art of Cimabue and his contem- poraries is evident enough. But in dramatic power I am inclined to think that he has never been equaled, and in that utterly modern phase of art which may be called the story-telling he has no rival since. In the details of his art, in the method of using nature, he varies so little from the men who worked with him that we have Vasari praising as one of his highest achievements a picture painted by Don Lo- renzo of CamaldoH; and we have read Rus- kin's unmeasured eulogies over a picture in Santa Croce in Florence as Giotto's which is now shown not to be his. This only shows that 1 Artists understand this readily. For others I will say that the methods used by Giotto and his contem- poraries do not permit the gradual development of color effect. Glazing was impossible; color remained as it was laid. in cases where his rare imaginative gift is not developed, his technical powers are not so supe- rior tt) those of other painters of his day that his work can always be distinguished from theirs. Perhaps the works of Giotto which best show the contributions he made to art are the sub- jects of the Arena Chapel, and among them one of the most remarkable is the head of Christ, who turns to look reproachfully at the Roman who drives him along with a whip, which head Mr. Cole has chosen for reproduc- tion; another is the " Visitation," in which the momentary expression of the faces, the intense congratulation of Elisabeth, and the serene content of the Virgin, combined with the ac- tion, so intensely dramatic without the least overcharge, are given all the power and refine- ment which the capacities of art at that day permitted. If we compare the faint smile which kindles in the face of the Virgin with that of Leonardo's " Gioconda," the technical refinement of the latter will show wherein art had made advances, for the head which oc- cupied Leonardo for years, overworked, re- touched, and corrected, can by no means be set in the same category as the rapidly painted fresco of Giotto, which perhaps occupied him, without any aid from the model, as many min- utes as Leonardo gave months to his picture; but when this was finished it remained me- chanical and photographic as compared with the inspired and unhesitating brush of Giotto. Again, the figure belongs to a design entirely heroic, with no affectation of simpering graces such as we find too often in Raphael's madon- nas — graces borrowed from the women about him, and whom he made his saints. That Giotto never painted from nature, in the sense in which we now accept the expres- sion " painting from nature," is clear, not only from the enormous numbers of works he exe- cuted, but from the study of the works them- selves, in which we find continually evidence of the pure invention of the accessories, the slight and conventional treatment of draperies, the formal and prescriptive treatment of the hands and feet, the so general adherence to profile, and the absolutely conventional quality of his light and shade. The hands and feet, especially in their prescriptive rendering, and even the treatment of the heads, so far from anything like the recognition of realism, show unmistakably that the modern treatment of facts was not even conceived by him. The story of Giotto's O is another of those legends in which Vasari found matter for mar- vel, but in which, when properly interpreted, is a genuine revelation of the nature of the training and accomplishments of the artist of that day. Being asked for a drawing to be sent to the Pope as a proof of his powers, he GIOTTO. 325 THE VISITATION OF (Fresco No. 15 of the Series in took a sheet of paper (or parchment), and with a brush dipped in red color, and holding his arm firmly to his side and moving his wrist only, drew a circle of such perfect design that it has ever since stood as the type of free-hand drawing. But this per se is not such a remark- able thing to do that even among smaller men than Giotto's contemporaries it should have given one a reputation. The legend seems to be well established, and has a certain recognizable relation to the art of that day which it is well to point out. The painter was then best known as a craftsman and esteemed for his skill in MARY TO ELISABETH. the Chapel of the Arena, Padua.) doing certain set designs; so that Giotto's O, which implied no knowledge of nature or loftiness of conception, told the Pope simply that the draughtsman had a skillful hand. And it was precisely his skillful hand — his pen- manlike steadiness of hand — on which Giotto prided himself; because it was on that con- trol of his muscles, the precision and facility united in his touch, that he and those to whom he addressed himself based his standing as a craftsman. This was indeed, in the kind of work to which he was called, in fresco and tempera, of highest importance ; b-ut that the 326 GIOTTO. possession of this certainty of hand, even in the highest perfection, should satisfy the Pope of Giotto's capacities as an artist we can only con- ceive on one of two hypotheses — that the Pope was so well educated in art that he knew the whole value of this gift, which is not probable; or that he looked at religious painting as the Byzantines did, as something to be done by set pattern, and all that was necessary was that the artist should be a master of his pencil. The latter was probably the case. A pope or a bishop, a convent or a chapter, ordered a pic- ture as one might a chasuble or a piece of church furniture. The pupils began by draw- ing the Madonna according to a certain pat- tern, and they drew them pretty much in the same way, only more quickly and with more mastery, to the end. The imagination and the personality of Giotto probably weighed less with his public and time than did his O. Yet in Giotto's series of pictures from the life of St. Francis, Vasari notes with great empha- sis, as showing his idea of the artist's excel- lence,— an idea doubtless held by a portion, but certainly not the ecclesiastical portion or the majority, of his public, — that a figure of a thirsty man, "in whom one sees the lively longing for water, drinks bending earthwards towards the fountain with very great and won- derful effect, so much so that it seems to be a living person who drinks." And of a picture of Job he says, somewhat fancifully, I suspect : Equally of stupendous grace is the figure of a servant, who with a fan stands near Job, who is doubled up and as if abandoned by everybody, and well done [the servant] in all parts and marvelous in his action, driving away the flies from his leprous and stinking master with one hand, while with the other, dirty^ he holds his nose, not to perceive the smell. But the refinement of expression which Giotto gives his figures may be sufficiently well judged by Mr. Cole's faithful reproductions, in which the exact degree is rendered, and in which we see that the standard of what we now consider as refinement of drawing or exe- cution was far less remarkable than the extraor- dinary vigor and freshness of invention. In the " Ascension of St. John the Evangelist," from Santa Croce, note the young disciple who looks down into the grave and with his fellow wonders at the void, not at the saint rising above, who seems invisible to the whole group at the left, so that they only know by the emp- tiness of the grave that the saint has risen. Yet no pupil of any modem master would be proud of the draperies of the figures on the 1 I return, perhaps needlessly, to this assurance, be- cause the heaviness and almost wooden look of some of these heads might be ascribed falsely to the engraver. They belong to the original. extreme left. Throughout the whole picture of the death of St. Francis (also at Santa Croce) Mr. Cole's rendering of the drawing of the heads and draperies is of the same absolute fidelity,! and it is in the single dramatic action of some of the figures about the head of the bed that we find the greatness of the artist; and then in the exquisite tenderness of the saint borne in the spirit away into the blue sky by the angels. It is at Padua rather than at Santa Croce that one must learn Giotto, not merely because there the work is in better general preservation, but because the Arena Chapel contains such a series of masterly designs of such sustained invention and balanced power, in which all that is most characteristic of the painter in his prime is so well given, that there is nothing in the world of art to equal it. In this col- lective achievement of so much that was new in the art world — imagination, pictorial in- vention, knowledge of human nature, dramatic power, and knowledge of the resources of his art unapproached before his time — one may realize the relation of Giotto to the art of his day, the most individual, the most imagina- tive, and, with at most two or three exceptions, the most intellectual, of all artists whose work we possess. But to understand this inexhaust- ible quarry of pure art we must dismiss the ideas of modern standards and remember that the art of Giotto was, toto ca^lo, at vari- ance with that of the present school based on fidelity to surface, and that the realistic perfec- tion even of the nobler Venetian schools was as much out of the reach of the human intel- lect in the days of Giotto as the evolutionary philosophy was in the days of Aristotle. Paint- ing was until long after his day the book of the Church, the only means of making the people realize the doctrines whose importance was then supreme. To represent sacred things in conformity with the canons of the Church it was necessary to have some measure of ecclesias- tical education; whence the obligation of learn- ing Latin, which we are told was one of the first steps in Giotto's education, as it must have been in that of any painter whose business it was to illustrate the sacred text, the Bible existing only in Greek or Latin. In this con- dition of choice of subject and in the resulting manner of treatment is to be found the chief influence that shaped the art of the epoch. Neither nature nor science had any claims on the human intellect when compared with the dogmas of the Church ; and the person- ahty of the artist and his subjective qualities were in themselves of no weight whatever. To recount the story of Christ, the glories of heaven, and the horrors of hell was the busi- ness of the painter ; and a greater measure of MARY AND ELlSAUliTH. (From the " Visitation," in the Chapel of the Arena, Padua.) 32( GIOTTO. truth to the ordinary aspects of the physical world carried no weight, any more than did the greater attainment of those qualities which now we recognize as the most vital to art ; /. ^., harmony of line and tint, and composition of masses and colors. These qualities were in Giotto the sponta- neous accompaniments of all his conceptions, and mark his artistic supremacy more clearly than they now would, in a time when their value has been recognized as the highest aim of the painter. We have these qualities in many other painters, and in some of them to a degree which denotes a refinement of research which Giotto never shows ; but in them they are the result of comparative study and the accumulation of example and tradi- tion. In him art springs to life unheralded and unexampled. In some respects his posi- tion may be compared to that of Shakspere, rising isolated in his excellence above all around him — like him also in vivid dramatic instinct and in fervid imagination. His technique is that of the school — a school, however, in which he was so large and powerful an element that, while his work is confounded with that of his pupils and his contemporaries, most of the credit of it must come back to him. " In those days," says Morelli, " originality was differently un- derstood." The aim of the artist was to paint in the best manner ; not to make a manner of his own by which, in some petty peculiarity of treatment, the painter should be found. That Giotto fecundated all the art of his day, not only technically but intellectually, appears from the constant attribution to him of pictures by his followers. For instance, in the long and minute description of the pictures of the life of the Beata Michelina given by Vasari, in which the dramatic qualities of Giotto are particularly insisted on as making this series " one of the most beautiful and excellent things which Giotto ever did," and of certain figures in them as " worthy of infinite praise for being, especially in the manner of the draperies, of a naturalness of folding which makes us under- stand that Giotto .was born to give light to painting." But these pictures were not by Giotto, w^ho died in 1336; whereas the Beata died in 1356, and was therefore probably beat- ified only about 1400. As, like most of Giotto's pictures, they have been covered with white- wash by the reverent care of ecclesiastical au- thorities, or " to lighten the church," we cannot say by whom they were painted, though their reputation bears testimony to the vigor of the school of which Giotto was the founder and chief. This was the function and property of all the true schools of art, that they imparted even to their minor members such a percep- tion of the qualities of style, and awakened by th^ir contagion of intellectual sympathy such ideal activity, that it becomes often impossible ^o distinguish the work of the master from that of the pupil. This is the case in the school of Titian no less than in that of Giotto. The genius of Giotto is as nobly shown by his Campanile at Florence as by his pictures ; but in all his work, and especially in the pure decoration, as in the Arena Chapel, we find the exquisite feeling for decorative art which makes the Campanile so precious. Nothing in art is beneath his devotion, nothing too great for his grasp. But the anonymous com- mentator of Dante who records the history of Giotto's beginning has a statement for which there is no other confirmation, and for which we must all hope in the love of poetic justice that there is no good foundation. The com- mentary says : "He designed and directed the marble campanile of Santa Riparata [the Duomo, afterwards called Santa Maria del Fiore] — a notable campanile and of great cost. He there committed two errors — one that it had not proper foundations \ceppo di pie\ the other that it was too narrow : he took this so much to heart that he sickened from it and died." This commentary, written probably within a half-century of Giotto's death, may be considered the earliest authority we have as to any facts of his life. Certain it is that the design of Giotto was not completed, for the Campanile lacks the pyramid which was de- signed as its termination; and this may be taken as possible confirmation that the foundation and dimensions of the base were not consid- ered sufficient for the structure he intended to have reared on them, and that the modifica- tions of the plans so made necessary may have produced the effect that the commentator records. Vasari says nothing of it, but Vasari was remote from Giotto's epoch and often ill informed. If the condemnation of Giotto's plans was the result of a deliberation of the authorities, they may have studiously sup- pressed the facts through fear of exciting popular indignation; but if due to Giotto's recognition of the mistake supposed to be made, — for time has hardly justified the as- sumption of the insufficiency of the founda- tions,— his illness, if due to that cause, would have been of the nature to exalt the popular imagination and would be certain to survive as legend. If we recall the pride in his work and the jealousy of criticism recorded of Cimabue we may the more easily credit the report of the commentator, concluding that Giotto was obliged to abandon the original plan by the official condemnation of his ca- pacity as an architect. But as Giotto died two years and a half after the beginning of the work, there could have been but a small part u u fa Vol. XXXVII.— 46. 33^ GIOTTO. of it above ground when the fatal disease began, which was after his return from Milan in 1336; and any condemnation of the founda- tions could have had no justification in signs of failure of the substructure, which is sound to this day. If the statement of the commentator is correct, Giotto died of unmerited humilia- tion— the incompetence of his judges. He was succeeded as architect by Andrea Pisano, who was dismissed, his work being disap- proved for reasons now unknoAvn. The part which Giotto saw built is the basement, and Andrea's part is the story in which are stat- ues. The inconsistency noted in the deco- ration of this part with that of the basement and the upper part as far as the cornice, which is common to both church and campanile, prob- ably shows the reason why Andrea was dis- missed, as the work above the cornice again resumes the character of that below, and there- fore accords with the design of Giotto. Of the works ascribed to Giotto now in ex- istence, in all probability a large proportion are only of his school; but the authentic record of his accomplished work shows a facility and rapidity of execution unrivaled in the history of art. He is to be studied in Assisi as well as in Florence and Padua. The frescos in the Incoronata of Naples are certainly not his, and the famous portrait of Dante in the Bargello can no longer be held as the tribute of the friendship which existed between the painter and the poet. To my mind there is no ques- tion but this is the copy of a portrait by Giotto which has perished, and that it is due to one of his pupils. Of the personal history of the great artist we know almost as little as of Cima- bue and Memmi. W. J. Stilhnan. NOTES BY TIMOTHY COLE, ENGRAVER. PADUA, August 3, 1886. — I am here in the Arena Chapel, and am at last confronted by Giotto. How brilliant, light, and rich the coloring is ! It quite fulfills all that I had read or thought of Giotto. I am con- veniently located and the light is good, but it is hard to keep to work with so many fine things above one's head. I can scarcely escape the feeling that the heavens are open above me, and yet I must keep my head bent downward to the earth. Surely no one ever had a more inspiring workshop. CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS. The " Christ before Caiaphas " is in the Arena Chapel of Padua. The history of the Madonna and of Christ is here rendered in a series of thirty-eight frescos. Photographs of these are on sale in the chapel, and each one is numbered. The " Christ before Caiaphas " is No. 31. It represents that portion of the twenty-sixth chapter of Matthew from the sixty- fifth to the sixty-eighth verse : " Then the high priest rent his clothes, saying, He hath spoken blasphemy ; . . . behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy. What think ye ? . . . And others smote him with the palms of their hands, saying, Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, Who is he that smote thee ? " Christ stands bound before Caiaphas, who, seated, is tearing his garment open from his breast, throwing himself somewhat back in rage, while his colleague seated by his side, with outstretched hand and body bent slightly forward in solemn and impressive atti- tude, pronounces the words, *' Behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy. What think ye ? " Christ has just been smitten by the leader of the angry crowd behind, who has his arm raised for another blow : his hand is open, showing that he smote with the palm. What could be finer than the action of Christ, full of gentle- ness, as with calm and unshaken dignity he turns to look upon his smiter? The attention centers in this supremely fine face, one of Giotto's masterpieces of subtile expression. He shows the perfect mastery of Christ over his emotions at a moment of surprise^. There is a benign sweetness in the countenance. But to appreciate this fully one must see the original, in which not only is there the added charm of color, — for there is a delicate blush suffusing the face, — but the contrast of the surrounding faces, brutal with hate and anger, serves to throw into greater relief the peculiar strength and sweetness of this face of Christ. The glory around the head is gilded, and in rather high relief from the picture. The hair is of a soft brown color ; the beard of the same color, but a little lighter ; the overrobe of a light fresh blue ; and the underrobe of a soft dull red. THE VISITATION OF MARY TO ELISABETH. The fresco by Giotto of "The Visitation of Mary to Elisabeth " is No. 15 of the series at the Arena Chapel, Padua, and is one of the most beautiful of the thirty- eight that adorn its walls. The deep feeling exhibited in the remarkable face of the old Elisabeth takes one captive instantly. It seems to me finely descriptive of the text: "And Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost,. . . and said. Blessed art thou among women," etc. (Luke i. 41, 42.) The composition is no less remarkable for strength and simplicity. The text says that Mary "entered into the house of Zacharias, and saluted Elisabeth " (verse 40). Giotto, on the contrary, makes Elisabeth come out of her house to receive Mary upon the threshold. Here is a poetic license and a happy device, one in which he has been followed by all artists among the Italians who have treated this subject successfully ; and I doubt not that it allows of greater simplicity of treatment and greater directness in telling the story. In the present instance we see at a glance, with Elisa- beth by her threshold, that Mary is the visitant. Then, by placing the scene in the open air, there is the ad- vantage of greater breadth and largeness in the distri- bution. Here we have the portico, the open doorway, and the figure of the maid-servant on one side of Id ^ O J- 2 O -< 2 z ^- X ^ H^ c/) .« N o £ Z Ph 2 o 2 ^ 33^ HORSES OF THE PLAINS. Elisabeth, balanced by the group of Mary and her two servants on the other side, with a clear space above — always a valuable consideration with the artist. But for this clear space above, the ornamentation on the portico, for instance, would have been insignificant and of no apparent consequence ; but now it stands forth and gives a pleasing variety. Also, against this clear space the faces have value and importance, while the space is of value in itself as a rest for the eye. In point of color this fresco is one of the finest of the series. There is a suggestion of the later Venetian coloring in the rich soft maroon tone of the drapery of Mary. Her white sleeve comes out finely against it, and is the highest point of light in the picture. The overrobe of Elisabeth is of a fine tone of yellow, her dress being a rich soft shade of brown. Finely con- trasted is the fresh complexion of Mary with that of Elisabeth, which is brown and weather-worn. The drapery of the maid-servant behind Elisabeth is of a fine soft gray tone. Of the drapery of the two maids on the other side, that of the foremost is of a grayish- yellow tone, inclining to the latter shade ; that of the farther, of a bluish gray. The sky is of a bright ultra- marine blue, strong in color. Giving its proper value in black and white conveys no idea of the freshness and liveliness of the tint. All the skies of the series are of this prevailing hue. I remember Mr. Stillman's remark- ing in connection with these things, some time after I had engraved this example, that the color blue, though strong and positive, yet carries the idea of light with it ; so that its proper value in black and white con- tradicts the idea of light which it conveys. I think I should have done better, on the whole, had I engraved the sky lighter ; though to give the proper value of the faces against the sky was a consideration not to be lost sight of. I have always found, however, the color blue a difficult tint to reproduce properly in black and white. DEATH OF ST. FRANCIS. The fresco by Giotto of the " Death of St. Francis " is the lower one on the eastern wall of the Bardi Chapel in the Church of Santa Croce, Florence. It is 8 feet lo inches high, 14 feet 5 inches long. The saint re- clines upon a bier in an open part of the cloister, surrounded by the brethren of the Order in their gray- ish-brown robes and bending over him in various atti- tudes of affectionate grief. Three at the head and three at the feet in white robes stand reading the mass. A cardinal in his red robe bordered with ermine kneels with his back to the spectator, probing with his fingers the wound in the saint's side — one of the marks of the Stigmata. Others of the brethren kiss and dwell over his hands and feet, similarly marked ; one of them at the head has caught sight of the soul of St. Francis as it is borne to heaven by angels. The sky is deep blue. The background of the cloister and the architecture on each side is of a pinkish hue. The cloth thrown over the bier on which St. Francis is lying is yellowish in tone. This fresco, and indeed the entire chapel, was re- stored in 1853. The feeling of grief in this beautiful work is stirring and passionate, while as a composi- tion it is preeminent in the perfection of its arrangement. ASCENSION OF ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST. The "Ascension of St. John the Evangelist " is in the Peruzzi Chapel — the second chapel west of the Bardi — of the Church of Santa Croce, and, like the " Death of St. Francis," is oblong in shape, being 8 feet 6 inches high by 14 feet 8 inches long. It is the lower fresco of the western wall of the chapel. The " St. John " is said to be less retouched than the " St. Francis," and certainly is finer in tone and color. The prevail- ing colors of the garments of the spectators are soft yellowish-gray tones of white, blue, and red ; those of the Evangelist's, purple and blue. The glories around the heads are of gold. The background or interior of the architecture is a warm gray tone, while that of the more forward and outer poi-tions is pinkish. Christ and the saints break through suddenly from a fiery cloud in the deep blue sky ; golden rays stream from the Saviour's countenance, flooding the Evangel- ist. The -picture is dramatic in the highest sense and wonderfully impressive. T. Cole. HORSES OF THE PLAINS. WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY FREDERIC REMINGTON. O men of all ages the horse of northern Africa has been the standard of worth and beauty and speed. It was bred for the purpose of war and reared un- der the most favorable climatic conditions, and its descendants have infused their blood into all the strains which in our day are regarded as valuable. The Moors stocked Spain with this horse, and the so- called Spanish horse is more Moorish than otherwise. It is fair to presume that the lightly armored cavaliers of the sixteenth cen- tury, or during the Spanish conquests in Amer- ica, rode this animal, which had been so long domesticated in Spain, in preference to the inferior northern horse. To this day the pony of western America shows many points of the Barbary horse to the exclusion of all other breeding. His head has the same facial line ; and that is a prime point in deciding ancestry in horses. Observe, for instance, the great dissimilarity in profile displayed by old plates of the Godolphin Arabian and the Darley Ara- bian, two famous sires, kings of their races, the one a Barb and the other an Arabian. In contemplating the development of the horse, or rather his gradual adjustment to his HOJ^SES OF THE PLAINS. 2>?>Z THE FIRST OF THE RACE. environment, no period more commends it- self than that of the time from the Spanish invasion of Mexico to the present day. The lapse of nearly four centuries and the great variety of dissimilar conditions have so changed the American " bronco " from his Spanish an- cestor that he now enjoys a distinctive individ- uality. This individuality is also subdivided ; and as all types come from a common ances- try, the reasons for this varied development are sought with interest, though I fear not always with accuracy. Cortes left Cuba on his famous expedition with " sixteen horses," which were procured from the plantations of that island at great expense. As a matter of course these horses did not contribute to the stocking of the conquered country, for they all laid down their lives to make another page of military history in the annals of the Barbary horse. Subsequent im- portations must have replenished the race. Possibly the dangers and expense attendant on importation did not bring a very high grade of horses from Spain, though I am quite sure that no sane don would have pre- ferred a coarse-jointed great Flemish weight- carrier for use on the hot sands of Mexico to a light and supple Barb, which would recog- nize in the sand and heat of his new-world home an exact counterpart of his African hills. As the Spaniards worked north in their ex- plorations, they lost horses by the adverse for- tunes of war and by their straying and being captured by Indians. At a very early date the wild horse was encountered on the plains of Mexico, but a long time elapsed before the 334 HORSES OF THE PLAINS. AN OLD-TIME MOUNTAIN MAN WITH HIS PONIES horse was found in the north. La Salle found the Comanches with Spanish goods and also horses in their possession, but on his journey to Canada it was with great difficulty that he procured horses from the Indians farther north. In 1680, or contemporaneously with La Salle's experience in the south, Father Hennepin lived with the Sioux and marched and hunted the buffalo on foot. At a much later day a traveler heard the Comanches boast that they " re- membered when the Arapahoes to the north used dogs as beasts of burden." That horses were lost by the Spaniards and ran in a wild state over the high, dry plains of Mexico and Texas at an early day is certain; and as the con- ditions of life were favorable, they must have increased rapidly. How many years elapsed before the northern Indians procured these animals, with which they are so thoroughly identified, is not easily ascertainable. Cheyenne Indians who were well versed in that tribal legend which is rehearsed by the lodge fire in the long winter nights have told me gravely that they always have had horses. I suspect that this assertion has its foundation in the vanity of their cavalier souls, for the Cheyenne legend runs very smoothly, and has paleface corroboration back to a period when we know that they could not have had horses. Only on the plains has the horse reached his most typical American development. The range afforded good grass and they bred indis- criminately, both in the wild state and in the hands of the Indians, who never used any discretion in the matter of coupling the best specimens, as did the Indians of the mountains, be- cause of the constant danger of their being lost or stolen, thus making it unprofit- able. Wild stallions continually herded off the droves of the Indians of the southern plains, thus thwarting any en- deavor to improve the stock by breed- ing. It is often a question whether the " pinto, "1 or painted pony of Texas, is the result of a pinto an- cestry, or of a general coupling of horses of all colors. The lat- ter, I think, is the case, for the Barb was a one-color horse, and the modern horse- breeder in his science finds no difficulty in producing that color which he deems the best. The Comanches, Wichitas, and Kiowas hold that stallion in high esteem which is most be- decked and flared by blotches of white hair on the normal color of his hide. The so-called Spanish horse of northern Mexico is less apt to show this tendency towards a parti-colored coat, and his size, bone, and general devel- opment stamp him as the best among his kind, all of which qualities are the result of some consideration on the part of man with a view to improve the stock. The Mexicans on their Indian-infested frontier kept their horses close herded; for they lived where they had located their ranches, desired good horses, and took pains to produce them. The sires were well selected, and the growing ani- mals were not subjected to the fearful set- backs attendant on passing a winter on the cold plains, which is one of the reasons why all wild horses are stunted in size. Therefore we 1 Parti-colored "calico," as sometimes called. HORSES OF THE PLAINS. 335 must look to the Spanish horse of northern Mexico for the nearest type to the progenitors of the American bronco. The good represent- atives of this division are about fourteen and a half hands in stature ; of large bone, with a slight tendency to roughness ; generally bay in color; flat-ribbed, and of great muscular devel- opment; and, like all the rest, have the Bar- bary head, with the slightly oval face and fine muzzle. Nearly identical with this beast is the mus- tang of the Pacific coast — a misnomer, by the bye, which for a generation has been univer- sally applied by fanciful people to any horse bearing a brand. This particular race of horses, reared under slightly less advantageous circum- stances than the Spanish horse of old Mexico, was famous in early days; but they are now so mixed with American stock as to lose the iden- of miraculous. I tried on one occasion to re- generate a fine specimen of the southern plains sort, and to make a pretty little cob of the wild, scared bundle of nerves and bones which I had picked out of a herd. I roached his mane and docked his tail, and put him in a warm stall with half a foot of straw underneath. I meted out a ration of corn and hay which was enough for a twelve-hundred work-horse in the neighboring stall. I had him combed and brushed and wiped by a good-natured man, who regarded the proceeding with as much awe as did the pony. After the ani- mal found out that the corn was meant to be eaten, he always ate it; but after many days he was led out, and, to my utter despair, he stood there the same shy, perverse brute which he always had been. His paunch was distended to frightful proportions, but his cat hams, ewe tity which in the days of the Argonauts was neck, and thin little shoulders were as dry and their pride. The most inexperienced horseman will not have to walk around the animal twice in order to tell a Texas pony; that is, one which is full bred, with no admixture. He has fine deer-like legs, a very long body, with a pronounced roach just forward of the coupling, and possibly a " glass eye " and ^___^_^^_^^____^^^^^^_ a pinto hide. Any old cowboy will point him out as the only creature suitable for his pur- poses. Hard to break, because he has any amount of latent devil in his disposition, he does not break his legs or fall over back- wards in the " pitch- ing" process as does the " cayuse " of the North-west. I think he is small and shriveled up like a Mexican because of his dry, hot hab- itat, over which he has to walk many miles to get his din- ner. But, in com- pensation, he can cover leagues of his native plains, bear- ing a seemingly disproportionately large man, with an ease both to him- self and to his rider which is little short hard as ever. Mentally he never seemed to make any discrimination between his newly found masters and the big timber wolves that used to surround him and keep him stand- ing all night in a bunch of fellows. On the whole it was laughable, for in his perversity he resisted the regenerating process much as A TEXAN PONY. HORSES OF THE PLAINS. ZZ7 any other wild beast might. For all that, these animals are " all sorts of a horse " in their own particular field of usefulness, though they lack the power of the Spanish horse. Once in Ari- zona I rode one of the latter animals, belong- ing to Chief Ascension Rios of the Papagoes, at a very rapid gallop for twenty-four miles, during the middle of the day, through the des- of the best specimens of the horse and rider which I have ever had occasion to admire were Mexican vaqiieros, and I have often thought the horses were more worthy than the men. The golden age of the bronco was ended some twenty years ago when the great tidal wave of Saxonism reached his grassy plains. He was rounded up and brought under the SPANISH HORSE OF NORTHERN MEXICO. ert sand. The thermometer stood as high as you please in the shade, and the hot sun on the white sand made the heat something frightful ; and personally I am not noted for any of the physical characteristics which distinguish a fairy. At the end of the journey I was con- firmed in the suspicion that he was a most magnificent piece of horse-flesh for a ride like that, and I never expect to see another horse which can make the trip and take it so lightly to heart. He stood there like a rock, and was as good as at starting, having sweat only a normal amount. The best test of a horse is, not what he can do, but how easily he can do it. Some Vol. XXXVIL— 47. yoke by the thousand, and his glories departed. Here and there a small band fled before man, but their freedom was hopeless. The act of subjugation was more implied than real, and to this day, as the cowboy goes out and drives up a herd of broncos to the corral, there is litde difference between the wild horse of old and his enslaved progeny. Of course the wild stallion is always efiminated, and he alone was responsible for the awe which a wild horse in- spired. As I have before remarked, the home of the Simon-pure wild horse is on the south- ern plains, and when he appears elsewhere he has been transported there by man and found 338 HORSES OF THE PLAINS. his freedom later on. I have found food for reflection in tracing the causes of the varied development of these broncos under different conditions. A great many of the speculations in which I indulge may be faulty, as they deal with a subject not widely investigated by any more learned sa- vants than one is [" ~ apt to find about the fires of the cow- camps in the far West. One must not forget, also, that the difficulty increases as years pass, because the horses are driven about from one section to another, and thus crossed with the stock of the country until in a very few years they became a ho- glorify his reign in America there will be none more worthy than his horse. This proposition I have heard combated, however, by a person who had just been "bucked" violently from the back of a descendant of the Barbs. He in- sisted that the Spaniards had left little to glorify their reign in America, ~ least of all their mis- erable scrubby ponies. Nevertheless, the Span- iard's horses maybe found to-day in countless thou- sands, from the city of the Montezumas to the re- gions of perpetual snow ; they are grafted into our THE INDIAN PONY. mogeneous type. The solutions to these prob- lems must always be personal views, and in no sense final. One thing is certain: of all the monuments which the Spaniard has left to equine wealth and make an important impression on the horse of the country. There is a horse in the Indian Territory, Arkansas, and Missouri, called the Cherokee pony, which is a pecuHar animal. Of low stature, he is generally pie- bald, with a great profusion of mane and tail. He is close set, with head and legs not at all of the bronco type, and I know that his derivation is from the East, though some insist on classing him with our Western ponies; but he is a handsome little beast,. HORSES OF THE PLAINS. 339 easily adapts himself to surroundings, and is in much favor in the Eastern markets as a saddle pony for boys and for ladies' carts. • The most favorable place to study the pony is in an Indian camp, as the Indians rarely de- feat the ends of nature in the matter of natural selection ; and further, the ponies are allowed to eat the very greenest grass they can find in the summer time, and to chew on a cotton- wood saw-log during the winter, with perfect indifference on the part of their owners. The pony is thus a reflex of nature, and, coupled with his surroundings, is of quite as much interest as the stretch of prairie grass, the white lodges, and the blanketed forms. The pist should he look along the humpy ribs and withered quarters. But alack ! when the young grass does shoot, the pony scours the trash which composes his winter diet, sheds his matted hair, and shines forth another horse. In a month " Richard 's himself again," ready to fly over the grassy sward with his savage master or to drag the travatix and pack the buxom squaw. Yet do not think that at this time the Indian pony is the bounding steed of romance ; do not be deluded into expecting the arched neck, the graceful lines, and the magnificent limbs of the English hunter, for, alas ! they are not here. They have existed only on paper. He may be all that the wildest en- PONIES PAWING IN THE SNOW. savage red man in his great contest with nature has learned, not to combat nature, but to observe her moods and to prepare a simple means of escape. He puts up no fodder for the winter, but relies on the bark of the cotton- wood. Often he is driven to dire extremity to bring his stock through the winter. I have been told that in the Canadian North-west the Blackfeet have bought grain for their ponies during a bad spell of weather, which act im- plies marvelous self-denial, as the cost of a bushel of oats would bring financial ruin on any of the tribe. Before the early grass starts in the spring the emaciated appearance of one of these Httle ponies in the far North-west will sorely try the feelings of an equine philanthro- thusiast may claim in point of hardihood and power, as indeed he is, but he is not beautiful. His head and neck join like the two parts of a hammer, his legs are as fine as a deer's, though not with the flat knee-cap and broad cannon- bone of the English ideal. His barrel is a veritable tun, made so by the bushels of grass which he consumes in order to satisfy nature. His quarters are apt to run suddenly back from the hips, and the rear view is decidedly mulisli about the hocks. The mane and the tail are apt to be light, and I find that the currycomb of the groom has a good deal to do in decid- ing on which side of the horse's neck the mane shall fall ; for on an Indian pony it is apt to drop on the right and the left, or stand up in the 340 HORSES OF THE PLAINS. HORSE OF THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST. middle in perfect indecision. The Indian never devotes any stable-work to his mount, although at times the pony is bedecked in savage splen- dor. Once I saw the equipment of a Blackfoot war pony, composed of a mask and bonnet gorgeous with red flannel, brass-headed tacks, silver plates, and feathers, which was art in its way. As we go very far into the Canadian North- west we find that the interminable cold of the winters has had its effect, and the pony is small and scraggy, with a disposition to run to hair that would be the envy of a goat. These little fellows seem to be sadly out of their reckoning, as the great northern wastes were surely not made for horses ; however, the re- verse of the proposition is true, for the horses thrive after a fashion and demonstrate the toughness of the race. Unless he be tied up to a post, no one ever knew an Indian pony to die of the cold. With his front feet he will paw away the snow to an astonishing depth in order to get at the dry herbage, and by hook or by crook he will manage to come through the winter despite the wildest prophecies on the part of the uninitiated that he cannot live ten days in such a storm. The Indian pony often finds to his sorrow that he is useful for other purposes than as a beast of burden, for his wild masters of the Rocky Mountains think him excellent eating. To the Shosho- nees the particular use of a horse was for the steaks and the stews that were in him ; but the Indian of the plains had the buffalo, and could afford, except in extreme cases, to let his means of transportation live. The Apaches were never " horse Indians," and always read- ily abandoned their stock to follow the moun- tains on foot. In early times their stock-stealing raids into Mexico were simply foraging ex- peditions, as they ate horses, mules, cattle, and sheep alike. In the grassy valleys of the north- ern Rocky Mountains, walled in as they are by the mountain ranges, horse-breeding was pro- ductive of good, and was followed. Thus the "cayuse," a fine strain of pony stock, took its name from a tribe, though it became dissemi- nated over all that country. As it was nearly impossible for the Indians to steal each other's horses on every occasion, the people were en- couraged to perpetuate the good qualities of their favorite mounts. The cayuse is generally roan in color, with always a tendency this way, no matter how HORSES OF THE PLAINS. 341 slight. He is strongly built, heavily muscled, and the only bronco which possesses square quarters. In height he is about fourteen hands ; and while not possessed of the activity of the Texas horse, he has much more power. This native stock was a splendid foundation for the horse-breeders of Montana and the North-west to work on, and the Montana horse of com- merce rates very high. This condition is not, however, all to the credit of the cayuse, but as a thoroughbred, with his structural points corrected, and fit for many purposes. He has about the general balance of the French po- nies of Canada or perhaps a Morgan, which for practical purposes were the best horses ever developed in America. At this stage of the development of the bronco he is no longer the little narrow-shouldered, cat-hammed brute of his native plains, but as round and square and arched as " anybody's horse," as a Texan A "cayuse." to a strain of horses early imported into Mon- tana from the West and known as the Oregon horse, which breed had its foundation in the mustang. In summing up for the bronco I will say that he is destined to become a distinguished ele- ment in the future horse of the continent, if for no other reason except that of his numbers. All over the West he is bred into tlie stock of the country, and of course always from the side of the dam. The first one or two crosses from this stock are not very encouraging, as the blood is strong, having been bred in and in for so many generations. But presently we find an animal of the average size, as fine almost would express it. In this shape I see him ridden in Central Park, and fail to see but that he carries himself as gallantly as though his name were in the " Stud-Book." I often see a pair of these horses dragging a delivery wagon about on the pavements, and note the ease with which they travel over many miles of stone-set road in a day. I have also a particular fad which I would like to demon- strate, but will simply say that this horse is the 7/c plus ultra for light cavalry purposes. In the Department of Arizona they have used many Californian liorses, and while some offi- cers claim that they are not as desirable as pure American stock, I venture to think that they 34^ HORSES OF THE PLAINS. A BRONCO IN CENTRAL PARK. would be if they were used by light cavalry and not by dragoons. In intelligence the bronco has no equal, un- less it is the mule, though this comparison is inapt, as that hybrid has an extra endowment of brains, as though in compensation for the beauty which he lacks. I think that the wild state may have sharpened the senses of the bronco, while in domestication he is remark- ably docile. It would be quite unfair to his fellows to institute anything like a comparison without putting in evidence the peculiar method of defense to which he resorts when he struggles with man for the mastery. Every one knows that he "bucks," and familiarity with that characteristic never breeds contempt. Only those who have ridden a bronco the first time it was saddled, or have lived through a rail- road accident, can form any conception of the solemnity of such experiences. Few Eastern people appreciate the sky-rocket bounds, and grunts, and stiff-legged striking, because the " bucking " process is entered into with great spirit by the pony but once, and that is when he is first under the saddle-tree. If that " scrape " is " ridden out " by his master the bronco's spirit is broken; and while he may afterwards plunge about, he has intelligence enough not to " kick against the pricks." His greatest good quality is the ease with which he stands any amount of hard riding over the trail ; and this is not because of any particular power which he has over the thoroughbred, for instance, but because of his "hard stomach." He eats no grain in the growing stages of his life, and his stomach has not been forced artifi- cially to supply a system taxed beyond the power of the stomach to fill. The same general differ- ence is noted between an Indian and a white man. You may gallop the pony until your thor- oughbred would "heave and thump " and " go wrong " in a dozen vital places, and the bronco will cool ofi and come through little the worse for the experience. Some years ago I drove up to a stage station in the San Pedro Valley in Arizona, and the Mexican stock tender had had a hard time in rounding up his stage stock. His herd pony had been run until, as he stood there under the shade of a brush corral, covered with foam and dust, with his belly drawn up al- most to his spine and gasping occasionally as though it was his last, I felt sure I should see him die before I left the station. I was after- wards told by the stage boss in a bluff, matter- of-course way, in answer to my inquiry, that he had " pulled through all right : you can't kill them critters"; and now I am perfectly positive that you cannot. As a saddle animal simply, the bronco has no superior. The " lope " is a term which should never be applied to that motion in any other THE WINTER LAKES. 343 breed of horses. I have watched a herd of cow- ponies being driven over the prairie where the undulations of the backs in the moving throng were as regular and easy as the rise and fall of the watery waves. The fox-trot, which is the habitual gait of all plainsmen, cowboys, and Indians, is easily cultivated in him, and his light, supple frame accommodates itself naturally to the motion. This particular American horse lays claim to another quality, which in my estimation is not least, and that is his wonderful picturesque- ness. He graces the Western landscape, not because he reminds us of the equine ideal, but because he comes of the soil, and has borne the heat and burden and the vicissitudes of all that pale of romance which will cling about the Western frontier. As we see him hitched to the plow or the wagon he seems a living protest against utilitarianism ; but, unlike his red mas- ter, he will not go. He has borne the Moor, the Spanish conqueror, the red Indian, the moun- tain-man, and the vaquero through all the glories of their careers; but they will soon be gone, with all their heritage of gallant deeds. The pony must meekly enter the new regime. He must wear the collar of the new civilization and earn his oats by the sweat of his flank. There are no more worlds for him to conquer ; now he must till the ground. Frederic Remington. VvP""^ ^iM,Jiy;^ ^ 0' THE WINTER LAKES. OUT in a world of death far to the northward lying. Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day ; Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying. Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away. Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer. Never a dream of love, never a song of bird ; But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber, Wherever the ice-winds sob, and the griefs of winter are heard. Crags that are black and wet out of the gray lake looming, Under the sunset's flush and the pallid, faint glimmer of dawn ; Shadowy, ghost-like shores, where midnight surfs are booming Thunders of wintry woe over the spaces wan. Lands that loom like specters, whited regions of winter. Wastes of desolate woods, deserts of water and shore ; A world of winter and death, within these regions who enter, Lost to summer and life, go to return no more. Moons that glimmer above, waters that He white under, Miles on miles of lake far out under the night ; Foaming crests of waves, surfs that shoreward thunder, Shadowy shapes that flee, haunting the spaces white. Lonely hidden bays, moonlit, ice-rimmed, winding, Fringed by forests and crags, haunted by shadowy shores ; Hushed from the outward strife, where the mighty surf is grinding Death and hate on the rocks, as sandward and landward it roars. WiUiani Wilfred Campbell. DOLLARD AND HIS COMMAND TAKING THE OATH. THE ROMANCE OF DOLLARD.i BY MARY HARTWELL GATHER WOOD. XII. BOLLARD S CONFESSION. 'F Dollard was surprised at finding Claire standing by the fire dressed for her journey, he gave himseh" no time for uttering it, but directed Jacques to bring down madame's boxes and to wake Louise. " One casket will be enough,' Jacques," coun- termanded madame ; " the one which has been opened. If there is such haste, the others can be sent hereafter. As for my poor Louise, I will not have her waked; this is but her second night's sleep on land. Some one can be found in Montreal to attend me, and I shall see her again soon." Jacques shufiied down from his master's apartment, carrying the luggage on his shoulder and his candle in one hand. Dollard waited for him, to say aside : " In three weeks come to Montreal and ask for your lady at the governor's house. Subject yourself to her orders thenceforward." " Yes, m'sieur," grunted Jacques. Again his candle on the twisted staircase caused great shadows to stalk through the cel- lar gloom™ Claire's shadow stretching forward a magnified head at its dense future ; Bollard's shadow towering so high as to be bent at right angles and flattened on the joists above. Once more were the bars put up, this time shutting two inmates out of the seigniory house. Dollard hurried his wife into the boat. One Indian held the boat to the beach, another stored the luggage, and immediately they dropped into their places and took the oars, and the boat was off. It was a silent night and very little breeze flowed along the surface of the water. The moon seemed lost walking so far down the west sky. She struck a path of gold crosswise of Lake St. Louis, and it grew with the prog- ress of the boat, still traveling down-river and twinkling like a moving pavement of burnished disks. Going with the current, the Hurons had little need to labor, and the gush of their oars came at longer intervals than during the up- stream voyage. 1 Copyright, 1888, by Mary Hartwcll Vol. XXXVIL— 48.' Dollard had wrapped Claire well. He held the furs around her with one arm. By that ghostly daylight which the moon makes she could follow every line and contour of his face. He examined every visible point on the river's surface, and turned an acute ear for shore sounds. Before he began to speak, the disturb- ance of his spirit reached her, and quite drove all mention of Mademoiselle de Granville from her lips. Having satisfied himself that no other craft haunted the river, Dollard turned his eyes upon Claire's, and spoke to her ear so that his voice was lost two feet away. " Claire, the Iroquois are the curse of this province. Let me tell you what they have done. They are a confederation of five Indian nations: their settlements are south of the great Lake Ontario, but they spread themselves all along the St. Lawrence, murder settlers, make forays into Montreal and Quebec ; they have almost exterminated the Christian Hurons, and when they offer us truces they do it only to throw us off our guard. The history of this colony is a history of a hand-to-hand struggle against the Iroquois." " If they are so strong," whispered Claire, " how have the settlements lived at all ? " " Partly because their mode of warfare is peculiar, and consists in overrunning, harass- ing, and burning certain points and then retir- ing to the woods again, and partly because they needed the French. We are useful to them in furnishing certain supplies for which they trade. But they also trade with the Dutch colony on the Hudson River. Only lately have they made up their minds to sweep over this province and destroy it." " How do you know this ? " " I know that at this time two bands of these savages, each hundreds strong, are moving to meet each other somewhere on the Ottawa River. We have heard rumors, and some pris- oners have been brought in and made to con- fess, and the mere fact that no skulking parties haunt us shows that they are massing." Dollard drew a deep breath. " I shall not dread this danger, being with you," said Claire. " This is what I must tell you. Claire, there was a man in Montreal who thought the sacking of New France could be prevented if a few Catliervvood. All rights reserved. ;46 THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. determined men would go out and meet these savages on the way, as aggressors, instead of fighting simply on the defensive, as we have done so long. This man found sixteen other young men of his own mind, and they all took a sacred oath to devote themselves to this pur- pose." " Sixteen ! " breathed the shuddering girl. " Only sixteen against a thousand Indians ? " " Sixteen are enough if they be fit for the enterprise. One point of rock will break any number of waves. These sixteen men and their leader then obtained the governor's consent to their enterprise, and they will kneel in the chapel of the Hotel Dieu and receive absolution at daybreak this morning." " Their leader is Adam Dollard ! " Claire's whispered cry broke out. " Their leader is Adam Dollard," he echoed. She uttered no other sound, but rose up in. the boat. Dollard caught her in his arms and set her upon his knees. They held each other in an em- brace like the rigid lock of death, the smiling, pale night seeming full of crashing and grind- ing noises, and of chaos like mountains falling. Length after length the boat shot on, dumb heart-beat after dumb heart-beat, mile after mile. It began to shiver uneasily. Alert to what was before them, and indifferent to their freight of stone in the boat's end, the Hurons slipped to their knees, each unshipped his oars and took one of the dripping pair for a paddle, fixed his roused eyes on the twisting current, and prepared for the rapids of Lachine. Like an arrow just when the bowstring twangs came the boat at a rock, to be paddled as cleanly aside as if that hissing mass had been a shadow. Right, left, ahead the rapids boiled up ; slight shocks ran through the thin-skinned craft as it dodged, shied, leaped, half whirled and half reversed, tumultuously tumbled or shot as if going down a flume. While it lasted the dan- ger seemed endless. But those skilled paddlers played through it with grins of delight folding creases in their leather faces, nor did they set- tle down dogged and dull Indians again until the boat shot freely out of the rapids upon tame moonlighted ripples once more. After the Lachine, Dollard lifted his head and said to Claire : " We start on our expedition as soon as mass is done this morning. It goes without saying that I was pledged to this when I went to Quebec. I cannot go back from it now." " There is no thought of your going back from it now," Claire spoke to him. " But, Dol- lard, is there hope of any man's returning alive from this expedition ? " " We are sworn to give no quarter and to take none." The Indians, pointing their boat towards Montreal, were now pulling Avith long easy strokes. A little rocky island rose between voy- agers and settling moon. " O Claire ! I loved you so ! that is all my excuse. I meant not to bring such anguish upon you," " Dollard, I forbid you to regret your mar- riage. I myself have no regrets." " I knew not what I was doing." His words dropped with efibrt. She could feel his throat strongly sobbing. " Don't fret, my Dollard." Claire smoothed down those laboring veins with her satin palm. " We are, indeed, young to die. I thought we should live years together. But this mar- riage gave us nearly a week of paradise. And that is more happiness, I am experienced enough to believe, than many wedded couples have in a lifetime." " Claire, the family of the Governor Maison- neuve will receive you and treat you with all courtesy; first for your own sake, and in a small degree for mine. I have set down in my will that you are to have all my rude belongings, and Jacques is sworn your trusty servant." ■" Dollard, hear v/hat I have to say," she exclaimed, pressing his temples between her hands. " You meant to leave me behind you at St. Bernard. You forget that the blood of man- warriors, the blood of Anne de Mont- morency, Constable of France, runs in my veins. Doubt not that I shall go with yoii on this expedition. Do you think I have no courage because I am afraid of mice and lightning ? " " Lknew not that you were afraid of mice and lightning, my Claire." " Am I to be the wife of Dollard and have sixteen young men thrust between him and myself, all accounted worthy of martyrdom above me ? " " Daughter of a Montmorency ! " burst out Dollard with passion; "better than any man on earth ! I do you homage — I prostrate my- self— I adore you ! Yet must I profane your ears with this : no woman can go with the expedition without bringing discredit on it." "Not even your wife ? " " Not even my wife. After absolution in the chapel this morning we are set apart, con- secrated to the purpose before us." Claire dropped her face and said : " I comprehend." He held her upon his breast the brief remainder of their journey, prostrated as she had not been by the shock of his confession. Mount Royal stood dome-like on Montreal island, a huge shadow glooming out of the north-west upon the little village. After shifting THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. 347 about from a river point of view, those struct- ures composing the town finaUy settled in their order : the fort, the rough stone seminary of St. Sulpice, the Hotel Dieu, the wooden houses standing in a single long row, and eastward the great fortified mill surrounded by a wall. The village itself had neither wall nor palisade. Surrounding dark fields absorbed light and gave back no glint of dew or springing green blade, for the seed-sowing was not yet finished. Black bears squatting or standing about the fields at length revealed themselves as charred stumps and half trees. " You have not told me the route your expedition goes," whispered Claire. "We go in that direction — up the Ottawa River." Dollard swejot out his arm indicating the west. " There is one thing. Do not place me in the governor's charge. How can I be a guest, when I would lie night and day before some shrine ? Are there no convents in Mon- treal ? A convent is my allotted shelter." " There are only the nuns of the Hotel Dieu," he murmured back. " They, also, would receive you into kind protection; but, my Claire, they are poor. Montreal is not Quebec. Our nuns lived at first in one room. Now they have the hospital; but it is a wooden building, exposed by its situation." " Let me go to the nuns," she insisted. " And there is one other thing. Do not tell them who I am. Say nothing about me, that I may have no inquiries to answer concerning our marriage and his reverence the bishop." "Our nuns of St. Joseph and the Sulpitians of Montreal bear not too much love for the bishop," said Dollard. " But every wish you have is my wish. I will say nothing to the nuns, and you may tell them only what you will." A strong pallor toning up to yellow had been growing from the east to the detriment of the moon. Now a pencil line of pink lay across the horizon, and the general dewiness of objects became apparent. The mountain turned from shadow into perpendicular earth and half-budded trees. Some people were stir- ring in Montreal, and a dog ran towards the river barking as the boat touched the wharf. XIII. THE CHAPEL OF THE HOTEL DIEU. JouANEAux, the retainer of the hospital nuns, though used to rising early to feed their pigs and chickens, this time cast his wary glance into the garden while it was yet night. The garden held now no tall growths of mustard, in which the Iroquois had been known to lurk until daylight for victims, but Jouaneaux felt it necessary that he should scan the inclo- sure himself before any nun chanced to step into it. The sisterhood's dependent animals were quartered under the same roof with themselves, according to Canadian custom. Jouaneaux scattered provender before the cocks were fairly roused to their matin duty of crowing; and the sleepy swine, lifting the tips of their circular noses, grunted inquiringly at him with- out scrambling up through the dusk. Scandal might have attached itself even to these nuns of the Hotel Dieu for maintaining so youthful a servitor as Jouaneaux, had not the entire settlement of Montreal known his cause for gratitude towards them and the hon- est bond which held him devoted to their goodness. He was not the stumpy type of French peas- ant, but stood tall and lithe, was rosy-faced, and had bright hair like a Saxon's. A constant smile parted Jouaneaux's lips and tilted up his nose. He looked always on the point of tell- ing good news. Catastrophe and pain had not erased the up-curves of this expression. So he stood smiling at the pigs while Indian -fighters were gathering from all quarters of Montreal towards the hospital chapel. " Jouaneaux! " spoke a woman's well-modu- lated voice from an inner door. "Yes, honored Superior," he responded with alacrity, turning to Sister Judith de Bresoles, head of the sisterhood of St. Joseph, to whom he accorded always this exaggerated term of respect. She carried a taper in her hand, its slender white flame casting up the beauty of her stern spiritualized features. Bound at all times to the duty of the mo- ment, whether that duty was to boil herbs for dinner, to ring the tocsin at an Indian alarm, or to receive the wounded and the dying. Sister Bresoles conferred briefly with her servitor. " Jouaneaux, is the chapel in complete readiness ? " " Yes, honored Superior ; everything is ready." " The Commandant Doflard has arrived, and he brought his young relative with him to place her in our care." " His sister who lives on his seigniory ? " "Certainly. Could it be any other? His sister. Mademoiselle Doflard, therefore — " " Pardon, honored Superior," — the tip of his nose shifted with expressive twitches, and he had the air of imparting something joyful, — " Mademoiselle de Granville. She is but half- sister to Monsieur Dollard." " The minutest relationships of remote fiim- ilies are not hid from you, Jouaneaux," com- mented Sister Bresoles. " But I have to mention to you that the parlor fire must be lighted now 348 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. and every morning for Mademoiselle de Gran- ville, if she choose to sit there." " It shall be done, honored Superior." " And that is all I had to tell you, I believe," concluded Sister Judith, turning immediately to the next duty on her list. Early as it was, the population of Montreal was pressing into the palisade gate of the Hotel Dieu. Matrons led their children, who mopped sleep from their eyes with little dark fists and stood on tiptoe to look between moving figures for the Indian-fighters. Some women had pale and tear-sodden cheeks, but most faces showed that rapturous enthusiasm which heroic under- taking rouses in the human breast. Unlike many meetings of a religious character, this one attracted men in majority : the seignior, the gentilhomme, the soldier from the fort, the working-smith or armorer. When Sister Bresoles received Claire she- had given her directly into the hands of a white, gentle, little nun, the frame-work of whose countenance was bare and expressive. She took the girl's hand between her sympa- thetic and work-worn tiny palms. They stood in the refectory, the dawn-light just jotting their outlines to each other. " I am Sister Mace, dear mademoiselle," said the little nun. " Do you wish me to sit by you in the chapel ? " " I cannot sit in the chapel, Sister." " Then let me take you to our parlor. My Sister Bresoles will have a fire lighted there. On these mornings the air from the river comes in chill." " No, Sister," said Claire, her eyes closed. " Thank you. Be not too kind to me. I wish to retain command of myself" Sister Mace let a tear slip down each cheek hollow and took one hand away from Claire's to tweak her dot-like nose and catch the tears on a corner of her veil. The Sisters of St. Jo- seph were poorly clad, but the very fragrance of cleanness stirred in Sister Mace's robe. She glanced about for something which might com- fort Claire by way of the stomach ; for stom- ach comfort had gained importance to these gently bred nuns after their Canadian winters on frozen bread. " Sister," said Claire, " is there any hiding- place about the walls of the chapel where I can thrust myself so that no weakness of mine may be seen, and behold the ceremonies ? " " There is the rood-loft," replied Sister Mace. " And if you go directly to it before the chapel is opened for the service, nobody would dream you were there." " Let us go directly," said Claire. Directly they went. Sister Mace paused but to close with care the chapel door behind them. The chapel was dark and they groped across it and up the stairway. Sister Mace talking low and breathlessly on the ascent. " Ah, mademoiselle, what a blessed and safe retreat is the rood-loft ! How many times have my Sister Maillet and I flown to that sacred corner and prostrated ourselves before the Holy Sacrament while the yells of the Iroquois rung in our very ears ! We expected every instant to be seized and to feel the scalps torn from our heads. I have not the fortitude to bear these things as hath my Sister Bresoles, — this way, mademoiselle ; give me your hand,™ but I can appreciate noble courage; and, made- moiselle, I look with awe upon these young men about to take their vows." The sacrament and its appendages had been removed from Sister Mace's retreat to the altar below. There was a low balustrade at the front of this narrow gallery which would con- ceal people humble enough to flatten them- selves beside it, and here the woman bereft and the woman her sympathizer did lie on the floor and look down from the rood-loft. Be- fore many moments an acolyte came in with his taper and lighted all the candles on the altar. Out of dusk the rough little room, with its few sacred daubs and its waxen images, sprung into mellow beauty. Claire watched all that passed, sometimes dropping her face to the floor, and sometimes trembling from head to foot, but letting no sound betray her. She saw the settlement of Montreal crowd into the inclosure as soon as the chapel door was opened, and a Sulpi- tian priest stand forth by the altar. She saw the seventeen men file into space reserved for them before the altar and kneel there four g,breast, Dollard at their head kneeling alone. The chapel was very silent, French vivacity, which shapes itself into animated fervor on religious occasions, being repressed by this spectacle. Claire knew the sub-governor Maisonneuve by his surroundings and attendants before Sister Mace breathed him into her ear, " And that man who now comes forward," the nun added as secretly — "that is Charles Le Moyne, as brave a man as any in the prov- ince, and rich and worthy, moreover. His seigniory is opposite Montreal on the south- east shore." Charles Le Moyne, addressing himself to the kneeling men, spoke out for his colleagues and brethren of the settlement who could not leave their farms until the spring crops were all planted. He urged the seventeen to wait untfl he and his friends could join the expedi- tion. He would promise they should not be delayed long. Claire watched Dollard lift his smiling face THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 349 and shake his head with decision, against which urging was powerless. She witnessed the oath which they took neither to give quarter to nor accept quarter from the Iroquois. She witnessed their conse- cration and the ceremonial of mass. The kneel- ing men were young, few of them being older than Dollard.i They represented the colony, from soldier and gentilhomme down to the lower ranks of handicraftsmen. Whatever their ancestry had been, a baptism of glory de- scended upon all those faces alike. Their backs were towards the crowded chapel, but the women in the rood-loft could see this un- conscious hght, and as Claire looked at Dollard she shuddered from head to foot, feeling that her whole silent body was one selfish scream, " He is forgetting me ! " Lighted altar, lifted host, bowed people, and even the knightly splendor of Bollard's face, all passed from Claire's knowledge. "-It is now over, dear mademoiselle," whis- pered Sister Mace, sighing. "Do you see ?— the men are standing up to march out four abreast, headed by the commandant. Ah, how the peo- ple will crowd them and shake their hands ! Are you not looking, my child ? O St. Joseph ! patron of little ones, she is in a dead faint. Mademoiselle ! " Sister Mace began to rub Claire's temples and hands and to pant with anxiety, so that the rood-loft must have been betrayed had not the chapel been emptying itself of a crowd running eagerly after other objects. " Let me be," spoke Claire, hoarsely. " I am only dying to the world." Sister Mace wept again. She patted Claire's wrist with her small fingers. The girl's blood- less face and tight-shut eyes were made more pallid by early daylight, for the candles were being put out upon the altar. Sister Mace in her solicitude forgot all about the people pour- ing through the palisade gate and following their heroes to the river-landing. " Oh, how strong is the love of brother 1 The following list may be found in the parish reg- ister of Villemarie, June 3, 1660 : 1. Adam Dollard (Sieur des Ormeaux), comman- dant, age de 25 ans, 2. Jacques Brassier, age de 25 ans. 3. Jean Tavernier, dit la Hochehere, armurier, age de 28 ans. 4. Nicolas Tellemont, serrurier, age de 25 ans. 5. Laurent Hebert, dit la Riviere, 27 ans. 6. Alonie de Lestres, chaufournier, 31 ans. 7. Nicolas Josselin, 25 ans. 8. Robert Juree, 24 ans. 9. Jacques Boisseau, dit Cognac, 23 ans. 10. Louis Martin, 21 ans. 11. Christophe Augier, dit Desjardins, 26 ans. 12. Etienne Robin, dit Desforges, 27 ans. 13. Jean Valets, 27 ans. 14. Rene Doussin (Sieur de Sainte-C^cile), soldat de garnison, 30 ans. and sister ! " half soliloquized this gentle nun. " These ties so sweeten life ; but when the call of Heaven comes, how hard they rend asun- der ! " The trampling below hastened itself, ebbed away, entirely ceasing upon the flags of the Hotel Dieu and becoming a clatter along the wharf " Is the chapel vacant now. Sister ? " her charge breathed at her ear. " The last person has left it, dear made- moiselle." " Presently I will go dov/n to lie on that spot where he knelt before the altar." " Shall I assist you down, dear mademoi- selle ? " said Sister Mace with the solicitude of a sparrow trying to fift a wounded robin. " No, Sister. But of your charity do this for me in my weakness. Go down and stand by the place. I have not known if any foot pressed it, and I will not have it profaned." Sister Mace, therefore, who respected all requests, and who herself had lain stretched on that cold stone pavement doing her religious penances, descended the stairs and stood near the altar; while her charge followed, holding by railing or sinking upon step, until she reached the square of stone where Dollard had knelt. As a mother pounces upon her child in idolatrous abandon, so Claire fell upon that chill spot and encircled it with her arms, sobbing : " Doubt not that I shall find you again, m.y Dollard, my Dollard ! Once before I prayed mightily to Heaven for a blessing, and I got my blessing." While she lay there, cheer after cheer rose from the river-landing, wild enthusiasm burst- ing out again as soon as the last round had died away. The canoes had put out on their expedition. Those who watched them w^th the longest watching would finally turn aside to other things. But the woman on the chapel floor lay stretched there for twenty-four hours. 15. Jean Lecomte, 20 ans. 16. Simon Grenet, 25 ans. 17. Frangois Crusson, dit Pilote, 24 ans. Also cited in " Histoire de la Colonic Fran9aise," XL, 414, 416: "A ces dix-sept heros chretiens, on doit joindre le brave Annahotaha, chef des Hurons, comme aussi Metiwemeg, capitaine Algonquin, avec les Irois autres braves de sa nation, qui tons demeurent fideles et mourirent au champ d'honneur ; enfin les trois Fran^ais qui perirent au debut de I'expedition, Nicolas du Val, serviteur au fort, Mathurin Soulard, char- pentier du fort, et Blaise Juillet, dit Argnon, habi- tant." Of the ambush in which these last-mentioned three men were slain, and the subsequent volunteering of others in their places, this romance does not treat. 350 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. XIV. MASSAWIPPA. All that pleasant afternoon, while a spring sun warmed seeds in the ground and trees visi- bly unfurled green pennons, Montrealists stood in groups looking solemnly up-river where the expedition canoes had disappeared, or flinging their hands in excited talk. " They talked too much," says one of their chroniclers. For the expedition was to be kept secret, particularly from all passing Indians. There was no wind to cut away tremulous heat simmering at the base of the mountain. Grass could be smelled, with the delicious odor of the earth in which it was quickening. On such a day the soul of man accomplishes its yearly metempsychosis, and finds itself in a body beating with new life. Jouaneaux carried his happy countenance from group to group along the single street of Montreal, standing with respectful attention when his superiors talked, or chiming in with authority when his equals held parley instead of pushing their business. Before night a small fleet of Indian canoes came up the river and landed on the wharf of Montreal forty warriors and a very young girl. The chief, leading the girl by the hand, stalked proudly westward along the street, his feathers dancing, his muscular legs and moccasined feet having the flying step of Mercury. His braves trod in line behind him. " All Hurons," remarked Jouaneaux to his crony, a lime-burner. " And should be seeding their island of Or- leans at this season," said the lime-burner, " if Quebec set them any example but to quarrel and take to the woods." " That chief can be nobody but Annaho- taha," said Jouaneaux. " Now where dost thou say he stole that brown beauty of a little Sister ? " " He stole her," responded the lime-burner, " from a full-blooded French girl below Three Rivers, that some Quebec Jesuit mixed up with him in marriage. My cousin lives in the same cote, and little liking hath she for this half-breed who scorns her mother's people and calls herself a princess." " Good hater art thou of Quebec Jesuits," said Jouaneaux, spreading his approving smile beyond dots of white teeth around large mar- gins of pink gums. " But Quebec Jesuits have done worse work than mixing the blood of this princess. What a httle Sister of St. Joseph she would make ! " he exclaimed, stretching his neck after the girl and disclosing the healthy depths of his mouth. " You never look at a woman but to take her measure for the Sisterhood of St. Joseph," laughed the lime-burner. " And to what better life could she be meas- ured ? " demanded the nuns' retainer, instantly aggressive, " or what better Sisterhood ? " " There be no better women," yielded the lime-bumer. All night Sister Bresoles and Sister Mace in turns kneeled beside the prostrate woman in the chapel. She was not disturbed by offers of food or consolation, for they respected her posture and her vigil. The young novices, of whom there were a few, had duties set for them elsewhere. All night a taper burned upon the altar and a nun knelt by it, her shadow wav- ering long and brown ; and the woman's body, with its arms stretched out on the stones, stirred only at intervals when the hands grasped and wrung each other in renev/ed prayer. Before matins Sister Bresoles left her sup- port of this afflicted spirit to devote herself to the revival of the body, by concocting a broth for which she is yet celebrated in Church an- nals on account of the Divine assistance she received in its preparation. The very odor should rouse Claire from her long fast and cause her to eat and rise, bearing her burdens. During Sister Bresoles's absence another fig- ure came in and bowed before the altar. Conscious of physical disturbance, Claire turned her vacant look towards it, as she had done each time the nuns changed vigils. This was no serene Sister of St. Joseph, but a dark young girl also flattening herself on the pavement, and writhing about in rages of pain. " My child, what ails you ? " whispered Claire, compassion making alive the depths of her eyes. But the girl, without heeding her, ground a few prayers between convulsive teeth, and then beat her head upon the stones. By degrees the silence and self-restraint of a woman not greatly her elder, lying in trouble as abject as her own, had its quieting effect on her. Tears, scantily distilled in her, ran the length of her eyelid rims and fell in occasional drops on the floor. Their cheeks resting on a level, the two un- happy creatures looked at each other across a stone flag. " Has your father or your brother gone with Dollard ? " whispered Claire. " Madame, my father goes to fight the Iro- quois." " I thought it." " Madame, I have just been making a vow." " So have I." " I will follow my father wherever he is go- ing, come life or come death, and nobody shall prevent me." Claire rose upon her knees. THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 351 Sister Bresoles opened the chapel door, car- rying in a bowl of soup as she would have car- ried it to a soldier whose wounds refused to allow his being lifted. The patient was in evident thanksgiving. Daylight had just begun to glimmer in. Claire's face shone with the passionate white triumph which religious ascetics of that day looked for- ward to as the crowning result of their vigils. Flushed with reactionary hope, she rose to her feet as if the pavement had left no stiffness in her muscles, and met the nun. " St. Joseph and all the Holy Family give you peace, mademoiselle." " Peace hath been granted me, Sister. My prayer is answered." " Great is the power of the Holy Family. But after your long vigil you will need this strength- ening broth which I have made for you." " Sister, you are kind. Let me take it to your refectory. I know the place. And may this young girl attend me ? " " I will carry it myself, mademoiselle," said Sister Judith, " to our rude parlor, if you will follow me up the stairs. The refectory is some- what chilly, and in the parlor we have a fire kindled. And you may bathe your face and hands before eating your soup." Up a stairway Claire groped behind the nun, and came into a barn-like huge room, scant of comforts except an open fire, which Jouaneaux had but finished preparing entirely for her. The cells of the nuns were built along one side of this room, and from the cells they now emerged going devoutly to matins. " Touching the half-breed girl of whom you spoke," said Sister Bresoles, lingering to put a basin of water and coarse clean towel within reach of her guest, " she shall come to you as soon as she hath finished her morning devo- tions. Her father is chief of the Hurons, and hath placed her here as a novice. We have many girls come," added Sister Bresoles with a light sigh, " but few remain to bear the hard- ships of life in a frontier convent." " Girls are ungrateful creatures," said Claire, " bent on their own purposes, and greedy of what to them seems happiness. I am myself so. And if I do or say what must oftend you, for- give me. Sister." She unfastened her necklace and held it up — a slender rope braided of three strings of seed pearls and fastened by a ruby. " This is a red sapphire. Sister, and has been more than a hundred years in the house of — " She suppressed " Laval- Montmorency," and pressed her necklace upon the nun's refusing palm. " Why do you offer me this, mademoiselle ? " " Because from this day gems and I part company forever. That is the only hereditary ornament I brought with me into New France. Enrich some shrine with it if you have no need to turn it into money for your convent." " Our convent is very poor, mademoiselle," replied Sister Bresoles, divided between accept- ance and refusal. " But we want no rich gifts from those who make their retirement with us. Also, the commandant, your brother, left with us more value than our poor hospitality can return to you." " Yet be intreated, Sister," urged Claire. " I want it to be well placed, but no more about my throat." Sister Bresoles, with gentle thanks, there- fore,—-" It shall still do honor to your house in works of charity, mademoiselle,"— accepted the gift and went directly to matins. When Claire had washed her face and hands and tightened the loose puffs of her hair, she took her bowl of soup and sat before the fire, eating it with the hearty appetite of a woman risen from despair to resolution. The odor of a convent, how natural it was to her ! — that smell of stale incense intertwined with the scentless breath of excessive cleanli- ness. Through the poor joints of the house she could hear matin chanting arise from the chapel. Daylight grew stronger and ruddier, and a light fog from the river showed opal changes. On moccasined feet, and so deft of hand that Claire heard her neither open nor close the door, the half-breed girl came to the hearth. A brown and a white favor in woman beauty were then set in strong contrast. Both girls v/ere slenderly shaped, virginal and im- mature lines still predominating. Claire was transparently clear of skin, her hair was silken white like dandelion down, and the brown color of her eyes, not deeply tinged with pig- ment, showed like shadow on water; while the half-breed burned in rich pomegranate dyes, set in black and fawn tints. They looked an instant at each other in different mood from their first gaze across the flagstone. " Your father is an Indian chief, the Sister tells me," said Claire. " My father is Etienne Annahotaha, chief of the Hurons." " And what is your name ? " " Massawippa." " Massawippa, the Virgin sent you into the chapel to answer my prayer." The half-breed, standing in young dignity, threw a dark-eyed side-glance at this per- fect lily of French civilization. She was not yet prepared to be used as an answer to the prayers of any Frenchwoman. " Did you know that an expedition started yesterday to the Ottawa River ? " inquired Claire. 352 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. Massawippa shook her head. " But your father, also — he is going to fight the Iroquois ? " " 1 know not where they are, but I shall find out," said Massawippa. " I know," said Claire. " The Iroquois are coming down the Ottawa." " From their winter trapping," the girl as- sented with a nod. " Your father, therefore, will follow Bollard's expedition." " My father has but forty-three men," Mas- sawippa said gloomily. " Child," said Claire, •' Dollard has only sixteen ! " " And, madame, the Iroquois are like leaves for number. But I did not mean our Hurons are forty-three strong. Mituvemeg,i the Algon- quin, meets my father here." " Do you know this country ? Have you lived much in the woods ? " " Yes, madame." " Have you ever been up the Ottawa River ? " " Yes, madame. The very last summer my father took me up the Ottawa beyond Two Mountains Lake." " Two Mountains Lake ? " " Yes, madame ; a widening of the river, just as Lake St. Louis is a widening of the St. Lawrence." " Could we go up this river in a boat, you and I ? " Massawippa looked steadily at Claire, search- ing her for cowardice or treachery. The Laval- Montmorency smiled back. " Twenty-four hours, Massawippa, I lay on the chapel pavement, praying the Virgin to send me guide or open some way for me to follow the French expedition up that Ottawa River. You threw yourself beside me and an- swered my prayer by your own vow. We are bound to the same destination." The half-breed girl looked with actual solic- itude at the tender white beauty of her fellow- plotter. " Madame, it will be very hard for you. You and I could not, in a boat, pass the rapids of Ste. Anne at the head of this island ; they test the skill of our best Huron paddlers." " Can we then go by land ? " " We shall have to cross one arm of the Ottawa to the mainland. Montreal is on an island, madame. Two or three leagues of 1 " They stopped by the way at Three Rivers, where they found a band of Christian Algonquins under a chief named Mituvemeg. Annahotaha challenged him to a trial of courage, and it was agreed that they should meet at Montreal. . . . Thither, accordingly, they re- paired, the Algonquin with three followers, the Huron with thirty-nine." — Francis Parkman. travel would bring us to that shore near the mouth of the Ottawa." Sister Mace, unobtrusive as dawn, opened the door and stole softly in from matins, break- ing up the conference. She called Massawippa to learn how pallets must be aired and cells made tidy. The half-breed girl saw all this care with contempt, having for years cast out of mind her bed of leaves and blankets as soon as she arose from it. Claire went with unpromising novice and easy teacher to breakfast in the refectory, and afterwards by herself to confession — a confes- sion with its mental reservation as to her plans ; but the rite was one which her religion im- posed upon her under the circumstances. She had been even less candid towards the nuns in allowing them to receive and address her as Bol- lard's sister. The prostration of grief and re- action of intense resolve benumbed her, indeed, to externals. But in that day of pious deception, when the churchmen themselves were full of evasive methods, a daughter of conventual training may have been less sensitive to false appearances than women of Claire's high na- ture bred in a later age. She saw no more of Massawippa until nightfall, but lay in the cell assigned to her, resting with shut eyes, and al- lowing no thought to wander to the men pad- dling towards that lonely river. All day the season grew ; shower chased sun and sun dried shower, and in the afternoon Jouaneaux told Sister Bresoles that he had weeded the garden of a growth which would surprise her. At dusk, however, he brought the usual small log up to the parlor, and with it news which exceeded his tale of weeding. Sister Bresoles was folding her tired hands in meditation there, and Massawippa, sullen and lofty from her first day's probation, curled on the floor in a corner full of shadows. " Honored Superior," said Jouaneaux after placing his log, " who say'st thou did boldly walk up to the governor to-day ? " " Perhaps yourself, Jouaneaux. You were ever bold enough." " I was there, honored Superior, about a little matter of garden seeds, and I stood by and hearkened, as it behooved the garrison of a convent to do ; for there comes me in this chief of the Hurons, Annahotaha, swelling like — ^" Jouaneaux suppressed " cockerel about to crow." His wandering glance caught Massa- wippa sitting in her blanket. The Sisters of St. Joseph were at that time too poor to furnish any distinguishing garments to their novices ; and so insecure were these recruits from the world that any uniform would have been thrown away upon them. With the facility of French- men, Jouaneaux substituted, THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 353 — " like a mighty warrior, as he is known to be. And he asks the governor, does Annaho- taha, for a letter to Dollard; and before he leaves the presence he gets his letter." Sister Bresoles raised a finger, being mindful of two pairs of listening ears, and two souls just sinking to the peace of resignation. " Honored Superior," exclaimed Jouaneaux, in haste to set bulwarks around his statement, " you may ask Father Dollier de Casson if this be not so, for he had just landed from the river parishes, and was with the governor. Via," saidjouaneaux, spreading an explanatory hand, ""if Annahotaha and his braves join Dollard without any parchment of authority, what share will Dollard allow them in the enterprise ? Being a shrewd chief and a man of affairs, An- nahotaha knew he must bear commission." " Come down to the refectory and take thy supper and discharge thy news there," Sister Bresoles exclaimed, starting up and swiftly leaving the room. Jouaneaux obeyed her, keeping his punctili- ous foot far behind the soft rush of her garments. He dared not wink at the nun, even under cover of dusk and to add zest to his further re- cital; but he winked at the wall separating him from Massawippa and said slyly on the stairs : " Afterwards, however, honored Superior, I heard the governor tell Father de Casson that he wrote it down to Dollard to accept or re- fuse Annahotaha, as he saw fit." As soon as the door was closed Claire came running out of her cell and met Massawippa at the hearth, silently clapping her hands in swift rapture as a humming-bird beats its wings. " Now thou see'st how the Virgin answers prayer, Massawippa ! " The half-breed, sedately eager, said : " We must cross the arm of the Ottawa and follow their course up that river. Madame, I have troubled my mind much about a boat. For if we got over the Ottawa arm and followed the right-hand shore, have you thought how possible it is that they may fix their camp on the opposite side ? " " Can we not take a boat with us from Mon- treal ? " " And carry it two or three leagues across the country ? For I cannot paddle up the Ste. Anne ^ current. But if we could get one here it would draw suspicion on us and we might be followed. I see but one way. We must •depend upon that walking woman above Ca- rillon ; and if she be dead, and they camp on the other side, we must raft across the Ottawa. 1 Ste. Anne de Bellevue, an old village at the junc- tion of the Ottawa and the St. Lawrence, " always a rendezvous of the voyageurs and coureurs de bois up the Ottawa." '* The waters of the Ottawa are about three inches Vol. XXXVIL— 49-50. But if we must first make a raft to cross at the mouth, how much time will be lost ! " " Massawippa, we have vowed to follow this expedition, and with such good hap as Heaven sends us we shall follow it. May we not start to-morrow ? " " Madame, before we start there are things to prepare. We must eat on the way." " What food shall we carry ? " " Bread and smoked eels would keep us alive. I can perhaps buy these with my wam- pum girdle," suggested Massawippa, who held the noble young dame beside her to be as dow- erless as a Huron princess, and thought it no shame so to be. " Why need you do that ? " inquired Claire. " I have two or three gold louis left of the few I brought from France." " Gold, madame ! Gold is so scarce in this land we might attract too much attention by paying for our supplies with it." " I have nothing else, so we must hazard it. And what must we take beside food and raiment ? " " Madame, we cannot carry any garments." " But, Massawippa, I cannot go to Dollard all travel-stained and ragged ! " " If we find him, madame, he will not think of your dress. Is he wedded to you ? " Claire's head sunk down in replying. " He is wedded to glory. Men care more for glory than they care for us, Massawippa." " Madame," said the younger, her mouth settling to wistfulness, "the more they care for glory the more we love them. My father is great. If he was a common Indian little could I honor him, whatever penance the priest laid upon me." "Yes, Dollard is my husband. He is my Dollard," said Claire. " The nuns call you mademoiselle." " I have not told them." "They might see!" asserted Massawippa, slightingly. " Do women lie in deadly anguish before the altar for brothers ? " she demanded, speaking as decidedly from her inexperience as any young person of a later century, " or for detestable young men who wish to be ac- cepted as lovers ? " " Assuredly not," said Claire, smiling. " But fathers, they are a different matter. And in your case, madame, husbands. We shall need other things besides bread and eels. For example, two knives." " To cut our bread with ? " inquired Claire. " No; to cut our enemies with ! " Massawippa higher than the waters of Lake St. Louis (in the St. Lawrence), and are therefore precipitated through the two channels running around lie Perot with consider- able force, forming a succession of short rapids." — From Report of Public Works, 1866. 354 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. replied, with preoccupied eye which noted Httle the shudder of the European. " O Massawippa ! they may be engaged with the Iroquois even now. Dollard lias been gone two days." " Have no fear of that, madame. There will be no fighting until Annahotaha reaches the expedition," assumed the chief's daughter with a high air most laughable to her superior. And after keen meditation she added : " We might start to-morrow daybreak if we but had our supplies ready." " Massawippa," exclaimed Claire, " how do you barter with merchants ? Can we not send for them and buy our provisions at once? " " Madame, send for the merchants ? You make me laugh ! Very cautiously will I have to slip from this place to that; and perhaps I cannot then buy all we need, especially with gold louis. They may, however, think cou- reurs de bois have come to town. And now at dusk is a better time than in broad daylight." Claire went in haste to her casket, which stood in the nuns' parlor, and selected from it things which she might not have the chance of removing later. These she put in her cell, and came back to Massawippa with her hand freighted. " How much, madame ? " the half-breed inquired as pieces were turned with a clink upon her own palm. " All. Three louis," " Take one back, then. Two will be too many, though one might not be enough. Ma- dame, that Frenchman who feeds the nuns' pigs and tends this fire, he will let me out; and what I buy I will hide outside the Hotel Dieu." XV. THE WOOING OF JOUANEAUX. In consequence of Massawippa's plan the Frenchman who fed the nuns' pigs guarded in dolor his palisade gate at about lo o'clock of the evening. The hospita.1 had these bristling high pickets set all about its premises as a defense against sudden attacks, and its faithful retainer felt that he was courting its destruction in keeping its bolts undone so late. There was, besides, the anticipative terror of a nun's stepping forth to demand of his hands the new novice. Cold dew of suspense stood on his face; and he could only hope that Sister Maillet, who usually had charge of the last novice, beheved her to be folded safely in her cell by Sister Bresoles, and that Sister Bresoles believed her to be thus folded by Sister Maillet. When at last the cat footsteps of Massawippa passed through the palisade gate she requited his sufferings with scarce a nod of thanks, though she hesitated with some show of interest to see him fasten both gate and convent door. Indignation pos- sessed him while he shot the bolts, and freed itself through jerks of the head. But instead of going to her cell, Massawippa entered the chapel; and Jouaneaux, feeling himself still responsible for her, followed and closed the door behind him. A solitary Hght burned on the altar. The girl knelt a long time in her devotions. Jouaneaux knelt also, near the door, and af- ter a pater and an ave it may be supposed he begged St. Joseph to intercede for a poor sin- ner who felt beset and impelled to meddle with novices. Having finished her prayers, Massawippa began to ascend the stairway to the rood-loft. " Where are you going ? " whispered Joua- neaux, following her in wrath. She turned around and held to the rail of the stair, while he stood at the foot, she guard- ing her voice also in reply. " I am going up here to sleep, lest I wake the Sisters. The floor is no harder than their pallets, and the night is not cold." " And in the morning my honored Superior calls me to account for you." " No one has missed me. I shall be up early." " How do you know you are not missed ? Some one may this moment open that chapel door." " Go away and quit hissing at me then," suggested Massawippa, contracting her brows. Jouaneaux, drawn by a power irresistible, fell into the error of vain natures, and set him- self to lecture the creator of his infatuation. " I want to talk to you. I want to give you some good advice. Sit down on that step," he demanded. Massawippa settled down, and rested her chin on her dark soft knuckles. Sparks of amusement burned in the deeps of her eyes. Accustomed to having men of inferior rank around her, she was satisfied that he kept his distance and sat three steps below her, liter- ally beneath her feet. Her beaver gown cased her in rich creases. Seeing her thus plastic, Jouaneaux's severity ran off his cheeks in a smile. He forgot her abuse of the privilege he had stolen for her. His genial nose tilted up, and as overture to his good advice, showing all his gums, he whispered : "What a pretty little Sister of St. Joseph you will make ! " Massawippa stirred, and with her dull red blanket arranged a rest for her head against the balustrade. " What do you think of me ? " he inquired. After reticent pause of a length to embarrass a modest questioner, Massawippa admitted : THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. 355 "You are not so black and oily as La Mouche." " Who is La Mouche ? " . " He is my father's adopted nephew." " Does he want to wed you ? " "He dare not name such a thing to me ! " "That is excellent," commended Joua- neaux. " You have the true spirit of a novice. You must never think of marriage with any man." He gloated upon her, his entire chest sighing. The scandal of the situation, should any nun open the chapel door, was a danger which made this interview the most delightful sin of his life. But the two Sisters most given to vig- ils had watched all the previous night, and he counted upon nature's revenge to leave him unmolested. The taper burned upon the altar, and there were the sacred images keeping guard, chas- tening both speakers always to a reverent mur- mur of the voice which rose no louder, and which to a devout ear at the door might have suggested, in that period of miracles, some gentle colloquy between the waxen St. Joseph and his waxen spouse. Massawippa, childishly innocent, and Jouaneaux, nearly as innocent himself, would scarcely be such objects of ven- eration, though their converse might prove equally harmless. " Is this the good advice you wished to give me ? " inquired Massawippa. " It is the beginning of it," replied Joua- neaux. " I do not intend to wxd. There is no man nt to wed me," said the half-breed girl in high sin- cerity, leveling her gaze above his bright poll. " Look you here, now ! " exclaimed the Frenchman. " I am good enough for you, if I would marry you. For while your fathers were ranging the woods, mine were decent tillers of the soil, keeping their skins white and minding the priest. Where could you get a finer husband than I would make you ? But I shall never marry. The Queen of France would be no temptation to me. There you sit, enough to turn the head of our blessed St. Jo- seph, for you turned my head the moment I looked upon you ; but I don't want you." " I will bid you good-night," said Massa- wippa, drawing her blanket. " At the proper time, little Sister ; when I speak my mind freer of its load. I must live a bachelor, it is true ; but if I were a free man I would have you to-morrow, though you scratched me with your wild hands." " I am not for your bolts and bars," returned Massawippa, scornfully. " If we were settled in the house I made upon my land," said Jouaneaux, tempting him- self with the impossible while he leaned back smiling, " little need you complain of bolts and bars. My case is this : I had a grant of land on the western shore of this island of Montreal." " Not where the Ottawa comes in ? " ques- tioned Massawippa, impaling him with interest. " That was the exact spot." Jouaneaux wid- ened his mouth pinkly as he became retrospect- ive. "And never wouldst thou guess what turned me from that freeholding to a holy life. I may say that I lead a holy life, for are not vows laid upon me as strait as on the Sulpitian fathers ? And straiter ; I am under writings to the nuns to serve them to the day of my death, and they be under writings to me to maintain my sick- ness and old age. It is likely my skeleton bam still stands where I set it up to hold my prod- uce. Down I falls from the ridge of it head- long to the ground, and here in the Hotel Dieu I lay for many a month like a rag, the Sisters tending me. It was then I said to myself, ' Joua- neaux, these be angels of pity and patience, yet they soil their hands feeding pigs and bearing up such as thou.' Though I am equal to most of my betters, little Sister, I always held it well to be humble-minded. The result is, I give up my land, I bind myself to serve the saints in this Hotel Dieu, and therefore I can- not marry." Jouaneaux collapsed upon himself with a groaning sigh. " Then your house and your barn were left to ruin ? " questioned Massawippa, passing without sympathy his nuptial restrictions. " My house ! " said Jouaneaux, looking up with reviving spirit. " Little Sister, you would walk over the roof of my house and not per- ceive it." " In midwinter ? " " No, now, when young grass springs. I could endure to risk my store of crops where the Iroquois might set torch to them, but this pretty fellow, this outer man of me, I took no risks with him. I chooses me a stump, a nice hollow stump." " And squeezed into it like a bear ? " " Jouaneaux is a fox, little Sister. Call your clumsy La Mouche the bear. No : I burrows me out a house beneath the stump ; a good house, a sizable hole. Over there is my fire- place, and the stump furnishes me a chimney. Any Iroquois seeing my stump smoking would merely say to himself, ' It is afire.' Let a canoe spring out on the river or a cry ring in the forest — down went Jouaneaux into his house, and, as you may say, pulled the earth over his head. I also kept my canoe dragged with- in there, for there was no telhng what might happen to it elsewhere." Massawippa regarded him with animation. " You had also a boat ? " 356 THE ROMANCE OF BOLLARD. " Indeed, yes ! " the nuns' man affirmed, kindled higher by such interest. " A good birch craft it was, and large enough for two people." Another groaning sigh paid tribute to this lost instrument of happiness. " But your house may be all crumbled in now." " Not that house, little Sister. Look you ! it had ceiling and walls of timbers well fas- tened together and covered with cement. Was not that a snug house ? It will endure like rock, and some day I must go and see it once more." " Perhaps you could not find it now." Jouaneaux laughed. " My house ! I could walk straight to it, little Sister, and lay my hand on the chimney. That chimney stump, it standeth near the river, the central one in a row of five. Many other rows of five there be in the field, but none, to my eye, exactly like this." Massawippa rose suddenly and dived like a swallow up the stairway. So much keener was her ear than Jouaneaux's that she was out of sight before he realized the probability of an interruption. A hand was on the chapel latch, and he turned himself on the step as Sister Judith Bresoles entered, her night taper in her hand. When she discovered him, instead of scream- ing, she stood and fixed a stern gaze on him, her mouth compressed and her brows holding an upright wrinkle betwixt them. Her servitor stood up in his most pious and depressed attitude. " Jouaneaux, what are you doing here ? " " Honored Superior, I have been sitting half an hour or so meditating before the sacred images." " Where is the novice Massawippa ? " " That is what troubles my conscience, honored Superior." Beneath his childlike dis- tress Jouaneaux was silently blessing St. Joseph that it was not Sister Mace with her tendency to resort to the rood-loft. " Here is the case I stand in : the little Sister you call Massawip- pa, she came begging me for a breath of air by the river before I fastened the bolts to-night." " You turned that child upon the street ! " exclaimed Sister Bresoles. " I cannot find her in any cell or anywhere about the Hotel Dieu. You have exceeded your authority, Jouaneaux. It is a frightful thing you have done ! " " Honored Superior, she will be back in the morning. Those half-Indians are not like French girls; they have the bird in them. This one will hop over all evil hap." " I would ring the tocsin," said Sister Bre- soles, " if alarming the town would recall her. Without doubt, though," she sighed, " the girl has returned to her father." " Honored Superior, if she comes not back to matins as clean and fresh as a brier-rose, turn me out of the Hotel Dieu." " Get you to bed, Jouaneaux, and, let me tell you, you must meddle no more with nov- ices. These young creatures are ever a weight on one's heart." " Especially this one," lamented Jouaneaux, as, leaving the chapel behind Sister Bresoles, he rolled his eyes in one last gaze at the rood- loft. xvi. FIRST USE OF A KNIFE. The capeline, or small black velvet cap, which Claire had worn on her journeys about New France sheltered her head from the highest and softest of April morning skies. Though so early and humid that mists were still curling and changing form around the mountain and in all the distances, it promised to be a fine day. Massawippa led the way across the clearing, leaning a little to one side as a sail-boat does when it flies on the wind, her moccasined feet just touching the little billows of plowed ground ; and Claire followed eagerly, though she carried her draperies clutched in her hands. The rising sun would shine on their backs, but before the sun rose they were where he must grope for them among great trees. One short pause had been made at the out- set while Massawippa brought, from some re- cess known to herself among rocks or stumps in the direction of the mountain, a hempen sack filled with her supplies. She carried this, and a package of what Claire had made up as necessaries from her box in the Hotel Dieu, as if two such loads were wings placed under the arms of a half-Huron maid to help her feet skim plowed ground. When they had left the clearing and were well behind a massed shelter of forest trunks, Claire was moist and pink with haste and ex- ertion, and here Massawippa paused. They were, after all, but young girls starting on an excursion with the morning sky for a companion, and they laughed together as they sat down upon a low rock. " When I closed the door of the parlor," said Claire with very pink lips, " I thought I heard some one stirring in the cells. But we have not been followed, and I trust not seen." "They were rousing for matins," said the half-Huron. " No, they think I ran away last night ; and you, madame, they do not expect to matins. We are taking one risk which I dread, but it must be taken." "You mean leaving the palisade and en- trance doors unfastened ? My heart smote me THE ROMANCE OE BOLLARD. 357 for those good nuns. Is the risk very great ? We have seen no danger abroad." " Not that. No, madame. Their man, that Stupid, who ranks himself with Sulpitian fathers, he is always astir early among his bolts and his pigs. It is his suspicion I dread. For he knows I slept in the chapel last night, and he told me of his house, and in that house we must sleep to-night. Perhaps he dare not tell the Sisters, and in that case he dare not follow to search his house for us. We have also his stu- pidity to count on. Young men are not wise." Present discomfort, which puts coming risks farther into the future in most minds, made Claire thrust out her pointed satin feet and look at them dubiously. " What would Dollard think of these, Mas- sawippa? I have one other pair of heeled shoes in that packet, but they will scarcely hold out for such journeying." " Madame, that is why I stopped here," said Massawippa, opening her sack. " It was necessary for us to kneel in the chapel and ask the Holy Family's aid before we set out ; but we have no time to spend here. Let me get you ready." " Am I not ready ? " inquired Claire, giving her companion a rosy laugh. " No, madame; your feet must be moccasined and your dress cut off." The younger girl took from the sack a pair of new moccasins and knelt on one knee be- fore Claire — not as a menial would kneel, but as a commanding junior who has undertaken maternal duty. She flung aside the civilized foot-beautifiers of Louis' reign and substituted Indian shoes, lacing them securely with fine thongs. " These are the best I had, madame, and I carried them out of the Hotel Dieu under my blanket and hid them with our provisions last night." " What a sensible, kind child you are, Mas- sawippa ! But while you were doing this for me I took no thought of any special comfort for you." "They will bear the journey." (To be continued.) Massawippa rose and took from her store two sheathed knives with cross hilts — not of the finest workmanship, but of good temper : their pointed blades glittered as she displayed them. She showed her pupil how to place one, sheathed, at a ready angle within her bodice, and then took up the other like a naked sword. " Now stand on the rock, madame, and let me cut your dress short." " Oh, no! " pleaded Claire for her draperies. " You do not understand, Massawippa. This is simply the dress which women of my rank wear in France, and because I am going into the woods must I be shorn to my knees like a man ? " Retreating a step she stretched before her the skirt of dark glace satin with its Grecian border of embroidery at the foot, and in doing so let fall from her arm the overskirt, which trailed its similar border upon the ground behind her. " Madame," argued Massawippa, suspend- ing the knife, " we have a road of danger be- fore us. That shining stuff hanging behind you will catch on bushes, and weary you, and will soon be ragged though you nurse it on your arm all the way." " Cut that off, therefore," said Claire, turn- ing. " I am not so childish as to love the pall we hang over our gowns and elbows. But the skirt is not too long if it be lifted by a gir- dle below the waist. Cut me out a rope of satin, Massawippa." The hiss of a thick and rich fabric yielding to the knife could be heard behind her back. Massawippa presently lifted the plenteous fleece thus shorn, and pared away the border while the elder girl held it. Together they tied the border about Claire's middle for a support, and over this pulled the top of her skirt in a pouting ruff. It was now sunrise. Having thus finished equipping themselves they took up each a load, Claire bearing her packet on the arm her sur- plus drapery had burdened, and when Mas- sawippa had thrust both cast-off shoes and satin under a side of the rock they hurried on. Mary Hartivell Catherwood. --y j;;vH-j.t..M< M.\^?9m^i'fAM T^^ STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. III. FRAN9OISE IN LOUISIANA. BY GEORGE W. CABLE, Author of " The Grandissimes," " Bonaventure," etc. CHAPTER IV. DOWN BAYOU PLAQUEMINE THE FIGHT WITH WILD NATURE. LAQUEMINE was com- posed of a church, two stores, as many drinking-, shops, and about fifty cab- ins, one of which was the court-house. Here Hved a mukitude of Catalans, Acadians, negroes, and Indians. When Suzanne and Maggie, ac- companied by my father and John Gordon, went ashore, I dechned to foUow, preferring to stay aboard with Joseph and Ahx. It was at Plaquemine that we bade adieu to the old Mississippi. Here our flatboat made a detour and entered Bayou Plaquemine.^ Hardly had we started when our men saw and were frightened by the force of the cur- rent. The enormous flatboat, that Suzanne had likened to a giant tortoise, darted now like an arrow, dragged by the current. The people of Plaquemine had forewarned our men and recommended the greatest prudence. " Do everything possible to hold back your boat, for if you strike any of those tree-trunks of which the bayou is full it would easily sink you." Think how reassuring all this was, and the more when they informed us that this was the first time a flatboat had ventured into bayou ! Mario, swearing in all the known languages, sought to reassure us, and, aided by his two as- sociates, changed the manoeuvring, and with watchful eye found ways to avoid the great up- rooted trees in which the lakes and bayous of Attakapas abound. But how clouded was Car- pentier's brow ! And my father ? Ah ! he re- pented enough. Then he realized that gold is not always the vanquisher of every obstacle. At last, thanks to Heaven, our flatboat came ofi" victor over the snags, and after some hours we arrived at the Indian village of which you have heard me tell. If I was afraid at sight of a dozen savages among the Spaniards of Plaquemine, what was 1 Flowing, not into, but out of, the Mississippi, and, like it, towards the Gulf. — Translator. to become of me now ? The bank was entirely covered with men, their faces painted, their heads full of feathers, moccasins on their feet, and bows on shoulder — Indians indeed, with women simply wrapped in blankets, and chil- dren without the shadow of a garment. And all these Indians running, calling to one an- other, making signs to us, and addressing us in incomprehensible language. Suzanne, standing up on the bow of the flatboat, replied to their signs and called with all the force of her lungs every Indian word that — God knows where — she had learned : " Chacounam finnan ! O Choctaw ! Con- no Poposso ! " And the Indians clapped their hands, laughing with pleasure and increasing yet more their gestures and cries. The village, about fifty huts, lay along the edge of the water. The unfortunates were not timid. Presently several came close to the flat- boat and showed us two deer and some wild turkeys and ducks, the spoils of their hunting. Then came the women laden with sacks made of bark and full of blackberries, vegetables, and a great quantity of baskets ; showing all, mo- tioning us to come down, and repeating in French and Spanish, "Money, money!" It was decided that Mario and Gordon should stay on board and that all the rest of the joyous band should go ashore. My father, M. Carpentier, and 'Tino loaded their pistols and put them into their belts. Suzanne did likewise, while Maggie called Tom, her bull- dog, to follow her. Celeste declined to go, because of her children. As to Alix and me, a terrible contest was raging in us between fright and curiosity, but the latter conquered. Suzanne and papa laughed so at our fears that Alix, less cowardly than I, yielded first, and joined the others. This was too much. Grasping my father's arm and begging him not to leave me for an instant, I let him conduct me, while Alix followed me, taking her hus- band's arm inboth her hands. In front marched 'Tino, his gun on his shoulder ; after him went Maggie, followed by Tom; and then Suzanne and little Patrick, inseparable friends. Hardly had we gone a few steps when we were surrounded by a human wafl, and I real- STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA, 359 ized with a shiver how easy it would be for these savages to get rid of us and take all our possessions. But the poor devils certainly never thought of it : they showed us their game, of which papa bought the greater part, as well as several sacks of berries, and also vegeta- bles. But the baskets! They were veritable won- ders. As several of those that I bought that day are still in your possession, I will not lose much time telling of them. How those half- savage people could make things so well contrived and ornamented with such brilliant colors is still a problem to us. Papa bought for mamma thirty-two Httle baskets fitting into one another, the largest about as tall as a child of five years, and the smallest just large enough to receive a thimble. When he asked the price I expected to hear the seller say at least thirty dollars, but his humble reply was five dollars. For a deer he asked one dollar; for a wild turkey, twenty-five cents. Despite the advice of papa, who asked us how we were going to carry our purchases home, Suzanne and I bought, between us, more than forty baskets, great and small. To papa's question, Suzanne replied with an arch smile : ^' God will provide." Maggie and Alix also bought several ; and Alix, who never forgot any one, bought two charming little baskets that she carried to Ce- leste. Each of us, even Maggie, secured a broad parti-colored mat to use on the deck as a couch a la Turqiie. Our last purchases were two Indian bows painted red and blue and adorned with feathers ; the first bought by Ce- lestino Carlo, and the other by Suzanne for her chevalier, Patrick Gordon. An Indian woman who spoke a little French asked if we would not like to visit the queen. We assented, and in a few moments she led us into a hut thatched with palmetto leaves and in all respects like the others. Its interior was disgustingly unclean. The queen was a woman quite or nearly a hundred years old. She sat on a mat upon the earth, her arms crossed on her breast, her eyes half closed, and muttering between her teeth something resembling a prayer. She paid no attention to us, and after a moment we went out. We entered two or three other huts and found the same poverty and squalor. The men did not follow us about, but the women — the whole tribe, I think — marched step by step behind us, touching our dresses, our cap2iches, our jewelry, and asking for everything; and I felt well content when, standing on our deck, I could make them our last signs of adieu. Our flatboat moved ever onward. Day by day, hour by hour, every minute it ad- vanced— slowly it is true, in the diminished current, but it advanced. I no longer knew where I was. We came at times where I thought we were lost; and then I thought of mamma and my dear sisters and my two pretty little brothers, whom I might never see again, and I was swallowed up. Then Suzanne would make fun of me and Alix would caress me, and that did me good. There were many bayous, — a labyrinth, as papa said, — and Mario had his map at hand showing the way. Sometimes it seemed impracticable, and it was only by great efibrts of our men [" no zomme," says the orig- inal] that we could pass on. One thing is sure — those who traverse those same lakes and bayous to-day have not the faintest idea of what they were [il zete] in 1795. Great vines hung down from lofty trees that shaded the banks and crossed one another a hundred — a thousand — ways to prevent the boat's passage and retard its progress, as if the devil himself was mixed in it; and, frankl}', I believe that he had something to do with us in that cavern. Often our emigrants were forced to take their axes and hatchets in hand to open a road. At other times tree-trunks, heaped upon one another, completely closed a bayou. Then think what trouble there was to unbar that gate and pass through. And, to make all complete, troops of hungry alligators clam- bered upon the sides of our flatboat with jaws open to devour us. There was much outcry ; I fled, Alix fled with me, Suzanne laughed. But our men were always ready for them with their guns. CHAPTER V. THE TWICE-MARRIED COUNTESS. But with all the sluggishness of the flatboat, the toils, the anxieties, and the frights, what happy times, what gay moments, we passed to- gether on the rough deck of our rude vessel, or in the little cells that we called our bed- rooms. It was in these rooms, when the sun was hot on deck, that my sister and I would join Alix to learn from her a new stitch in em- broidery, or some of the charming songs she had brought from France and which she ac- companied with harp or guitar. Often she read to us, and when she grew tired put the book into my hands or Suzanne's, and gave us precious lessons in reading, as she had in singing and in embroidery. At times, in these moments of intimacy, she made certain half-disclosures that astonished us more and more. One day Suzanne took between her own two hands that hand so small and delicate and cried out all at once : " How comes it, Ahx, that you wear two wedding rings ? " 360 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. "Because," she sweetly answered, "if it gives you pleasure to know, I have been twice married." We both exclaimed with surprise. " Ah ! " she said, " no doubt you think me younger [bocou plus jeune] than I really am. What do you suppose is my age ? " Suzanne replied : " You look younger than Fran^oise, and she is sixteen." " I am twenty-three," replied Ahx, laughing again and again. Another time my sister took a book, hap- hazard, from the shelves. Ordinarily [audi- naremend] Alix herself chose our reading, but she was busy embroidering. Suzanne sat down and began to read aloud a romance entitled " Two Destinies." " Ah ! " cried my sister, " these two girls must be Frangoise and I." " Oh no, no ! " exclaimed Alix, with a heavy sigh, and Suzanne began her reading. It told of two sisters of noble family. The elder had been married to a count, handsome, noble, and rich ; and the other, against her parents' wish, to a poor workingman who had taken her to a distant country, where she died of re- gret and misery. Alix and I listened atten- tively ; but before Suzanne had finished, Alix softly took the book from her hands and re- placed it on the shelf. " I would not have chosen that book for you; it is full of exaggerations and falsehoods." " And yet," said Suzanne, " see with what truth the lot of the countess is described ! How happy she was in her emblazoned coach, and her jewels, her laces, her dresses of velvet and brocade ! Ah, Frangoise ! of the two destinies I choose that one." Alix looked at her for a moment and then dropped her head in silence. Suzanne went on in her giddy way: " And the other : how she was punished for her plebeian tastes ! " " So, my dear Suzanne," responded Alix, " you would not marry — " " A man not my equal — a workman ? Ah ! certainly not." Madame Carpentier turned slightly pale. I looked at Suzanne with eyes full of reproach ; and Suzanne remembering the gardener, at that moment in his shirt sleeves pushing one of the boat's long sweeps, bit her lip and turned to hide her tears. But Alix — the dear little creature ! — rose, threw her arms about my sister's neck, kissed her, and said : " I know very well that you had no wish to give me pain, dear Suzanne. You have only called up some dreadful things that I am trying to forget. I am the daughter of a count. My childhood and youth were passed in chateaux and palaces, surrounded by every pleasure that an immense fortune could supply. As the wife of a viscount I have been received at court ; I have been the companion of prin- cesses. To-day all that is a dreadful dream. Before me I have a future the most modest and humble. I am the wife of Joseph the gar- dener ; but poor and humble as is my present lot, I would not exchange it for the brilliant past, hidden from me by a veil of blood and tears. Some day I will write and send you my history; for I want to make it plain to you, Suzanne, that titles and riches do not make happiness, but that the poorest fate illu- mined by the fires of love is very often radiant with pleasure." - We remained mute. I took Alix's hand in mine and silently pressed it. Even Suzanne,, the inquisitive Suzanne, spoke not a word. She was content to kiss Alix and wipe away her tears. If the day had its pleasures, it was in the evenings, when we were all reunited on deck^ that the moments of gayety began. When we had brilliant moonlight the flatboat would continue its course to a late hour. Then, in those calm, cool moments, when the move- ment of our vessel was so slight that it seemed to slide on the water, amid the odorous breezes of evening the instruments of music were brought upon deck and our concerts began. My father played the flute delightfully ; Carlo^ by ear, played the violin pleasantly ; and there,, on the deck of that old flatboat, before an in- dulgent audience, our improvised instruments waked the sleeping creatures of the centuries- old forest and called around us the wonder- ing fishes and alligators. My father and Alix played admirable duos on flute and harp, and sometimes Carlo added the notes of his violin or played for us cotillons and Spanish dances. Finally Suzanne and I, to please papa, sang together Spanish songs, or songs of the negroes^ that made our auditors nearly die a-laughing ; or French ballads, in which Alix would mingle her sweet voice. Then Carlo, with gestures that always frightened Patrick, made the air resound with ItaHan refrains, to which almost always succeeded the Irish ballads of the Gordons. But when it happened that the flatboat made an early stop to let our men rest, the programme was changed. Celeste and Maggie went ashore to cook the two suppers there. Their children gathered wood and lighted the fires. Mario and Gordon, or Gordon and 'Tino, went into the forest with their guns. Sometimes my father went along, or sat down by M. Carpentier, who was the fisherman. Alix, too, generally sat near her husband, her sketch-book on her knee, and copied the surrounding scene. Often, tired of fishing, we gathered flowers and wild fruits. I STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 361 generally staid near Alix and her husband, letting Suzanne run ahead with Patrick and Tom. It was a strange thing, the friendship ■ between my sister and this little Irish boy. Never during the journey did he address one word to me; he never answered a question from Alix ; he ran away if my father or Joseph spoke to him ; he turned pale and hid if Mario looked at him. But with Suzanne he talked, laughed, obeyed her every word, called her Miss Souzie, and was never so happy as when serving her. And when, twenty years after- ward, she made a journey to Attakapas, the wealthy M. Patrick Gordon, hearing by chance of her presence, came with his daughter to make her his guest for a week, still calHng her Miss Souzie, as of old. CHAPTER VI. ODD PARTNERS IN THE BOLERO DANCE. Only one thing we lacked — mass and Sun- day prayers. But on that day the flatboat remained moored, we put on our Sunday clothes, gathered on deck, and papa read the mass aloud surrounded by our whole party, kneeling; and in the parts where the choir is heard in church, Alix, my sister, and I, seconded by papa and Mario, sang hymns. One evening — we had already been five weeks on our journey — the flatboat was float- ing slowly along, as if it were tired of going, be- tween the narrow banks of a bayou marked in red ink on Carlo's map, " Bayou Sorrel." It was about 6 in the afternoon. There had been a suflbcating heat all day. It was with joy that we came up on deck. My father, as he made his appearance, showed us his flute. It was a signal : Carlo ran for his violin, Suzanne for Alix's guitar, and presently Carpentier appeared with his wife's harp. Ah ! I see them still : Gor- don and 'Tino seated on a mat ; Celeste and her children; Mario with his vioHn; Maggie; Patrick at the feet of Suzanne; Alix seated and tuning her harp; papa at her side; and M. Carpentier and I seated on the bench nearest the musicians. My father and Alix had already played some pieces, when papa stopped and asked her to accompany him in a new bolero which was then the vogue in New Orleans. In those days, at all the balls and parties, the boleros, fandangos, and other Spanish dances had their place with the French contra-dances and waltzes. Suzanne had made her entrance into society three years before, and danced ravish- ingly. Not so with me. I had attended my first ball only a few months before, and had taken nearly all my dancing-lessons from Su- zanne. What was to become of me, then, when I heard my father ask me to dance the bolero which he and Alix were playing ! . . . Every one made room for us, crying, " Oh, oui, Mile. Suzamie; dancez I Oh, dancez^ Mile. Fran^oise / " I did not wish to disobey my father. I did not want to disoblige my friends. Suzanne loosed her red scarf and tossed one end to me. I caught the end of the shawl that Suzanne was already waving over her head and began the first steps, but it took me only an instant to see that the task was beyond my powers. I grew confused, my head swam, and I stopped. But Alix did not stop playing ; and Suzanne, wrapped in her shawl and turning upon herself, cried, " Play on ! " I understood her intention in an instant. Harp and flute sounded on, and Suzanne, ever gliding, waltzing, leaping, her arms grace- fully lifted above her head, softly waved her scarf, giving it a thousand different forms. Thus she made, twice, the circuit of the deck, and at length paused before Mario Carlo. But only for a moment. With a movement as quick as un- expected she threw the end of her scarf to him. It wound about his neck. The Italian with a shoulder movement loosed the scarf, caught it in his left hand, threw his violin to Celeste, and bowed low to his challenger. All this as the etiquette of the bolero inexorably demanded. Then Maestro Mario smote the deck sharply with his heels, let go a cry like an Indian's war- whoop, and made two leaps into the air, smit- ing his heels against each other. He came down on the points of his toes, waving the scarf from his left hand ; and twining his right arm about my sister's waist, he swept her away with him. They danced for at least half an hour, running the one after the other, waltzing, tripping, turning, leaping. The children and Gordon shouted with delight, while my father, M. Carpentier, and even Alix clapped their hands, crying " Hurrah ! " Suzanne's want of dignity exasperated me ; but when I tried to speak of it, papa and Alix were against me. " On board a flatboat," said my father, " a breach of form is permissible." He resumed his flute with the first measures of a minuet. " Ah, our turn ! " cried Afix ; " our turn, Frangoise ! I will be the cavalier ! " I could dance the minuet as well as I could the bolero — that is, not at all ; but Ahx prom- ised to guide me : and as, after afl, I loved the dance as we love it at sixteen, I was easily persuaded, and fan in hand followed Alix, who for the emergency wore her husband's hat ; and our minuet was received with as much en- thusiasm as Suzanne's bolero. This ball was followed by others, and Alix gave me many les- sons in the dance, that some weeks later were very valuable in the wilderness towards which we were journeying. 2,62 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. CHAPTER VII. A BAD STORM IN A BAD PLACE. The flatboat continued its course, and at long intervals some slight signs of civilization began to appear. Towards the end of a beau- tiful day in June, six weeks after our depart- ure from New Orleans, the flatboat stopped at the pass of Lake Chicot.^ The sun was set- ting in a belt of gray clouds. Our men fast- ened their vessel securely and then cast their eyes about them. "Ah!" cried Mario, "I do not like this place; it is inhabited." He pointed to a wretched hut half hidden by the forest. Ex- cept two or three little cabins seen in the dis- tance, this was the first habitation that had met our eyes since leaving the Mississippi. ^ A woman showed herself at the door. She was scarcely dressed at all. Her feet were naked, and her tousled hair escaped from a wretched handkerchief that she had thrown upon her head. Hidden in the bushes and behind the trees half a dozen half-nude chil- dren gazed at us, ready to fly at the slightest sound. Suddenly two men with guns came out of the woods, but at the sight of the flatboat stood petrified. Mario shook his head. "If it was not so late I would take the boat farther on." [Yet he went hunting with 'Tino and Gor- don along the shore, leaving the father of Fran9oise and Suzanne lying on the deck with sick headache, Joseph fishing in the flatboat's little skiff, and the women and children on the bank, gazed at from a little distance by the sitting figures of the two strange men and the woman. Then the hunters returned, supper was prepared, and both messes ate on shore, Gordon and Mario joining freely in the con- versation of the more cultivated group, and making altogether a strange Babel of English, French, Spanish, and Italian.] After supper Joseph and Alix, followed by my sister and me, plunged into the dense part of the woods. "Take care, comrade," we heard Mario say; "don't go far." The last rays of the sun were in the tree- tops. There were flowers everywhere. AHx ran here and there, all enthusiasm. Presently Suzanne uttered a cry and recoiled with affright from a thicket of blackberries. In an instant Joseph was at her side; but she laughed aloud, returned to the assault, and drew by force from the bushes a little girl of three or four years. The child fought and cried ; but Suzanne held on, drew her to the trunk of a tree, sat down, 1 That is, " Lake full of snags." 2 The Indian village having the Mississippi prob- ably but a few miles in its rear. — Translator. and held her on her lap by force. The poor little thing was horribly dirty, but under its rags there were pretty features and a sweetness that inspired pity. Alix sat down by my sister and stroked the child's hair, and, like Suzanne, spite of the dirt, kissed her several times; but the little creature still fought, and yelled [in English] : " Let me alone ! I want to go home ! I want to go home!" Joseph advised my sister to let the child go, and Suzanne was about to do so when she remembered having at supper filled her pocket with pecans. She quickly filled the child's hands with them and the Rubicon was passed. . ". . She said that her name was Annie; that her father, mother, and brothers lived in the hut. That was all she could say. She did not know her parents' name. When Suzanne put her down she ran with all her legs towards the cabin to show Alix's gift, her pretty ribbon. Before the sun went down the wind rose. Great clouds covered the horizon ; large rain- drops began to fall. Joseph covered the head of his young wife with her mantle, and we hastened back to the camp. " Do you fear a storm, Joseph ? " asked Ahx, " I do not know too much," he replied; "but when you are near, all dangers seem great." We found the camp deserted ; all our com- panions were on board the flatboat. The wind rose to fury, and now the rain fell in torrents. We descended to our rooms. Papa was asleep. We did not disturb him, though we were greatly frightened. . . . Joseph and Gordon went below to sleep. Mario and his son loosed the three bull-dogs, but first removed the planks that joined the boat to the shore. Then he hoisted a great lantern upon a mast in the bow, lighted his pipe, and sat down to keep his son awake with stories of voyages and hunts. The storm seemed to increase in violence every minute. The rain redoubled its fury. Frightful thunders echoed each other's roars. The flatboat, tossed by the wind and waves, seemed to writhe in agony, while now and then the trunks of uprooted trees, lifted by the waves, smote it as they passed. Without a thought of the people in the hut, I made every effort to keep awake in the face of these men- aces of Nature. Suzanne held my hand tightly in hers, and several times spoke to me in a low voice, fearing to wake papa, whom we could hear breathing regularly, sleeping with- out a suspicion of the surrounding dangers. Yet an hour had not passed ere I was sleep- ing profoundly. A knock on the partition awoke us and made us run to the door. Mario was waiting there. STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. ?>^2> " Quick, monsieur ! Get the young ladies ready. The flatboat has probably but ten min- utes to live. We must take the women and children ashore. And please, signorina," — to my sister, — "call M. and Mme. Carpentier." But Joseph had heard all, and showed himself at the door of our room. " Ashore ? At such a time ? " '• We have no choice. We must go or perish." " But where ? " " To the hut. We have no time to talk. My family is ready." . . . It took but a few minutes to obey papa's orders. We were already nearly dressed; and as sabots were worn at that time to protect the shoes from the mud and wet, we had them on in a moment. A thick shawl and a woolen hood completed our outfits. ' Alix was ready in a few moments. " Save your jewels, — those you prize most, — my love," cried Carpentier, " while I dress." Alix ran to her dressing-case, threw its combs, brushes, etc. pell-mell into the bureau, opened a lower part of the case and took out four or five jewel-boxes that glided into her pockets, and two lockets that she hid carefully in her corsage. Joseph always kept their little fortune in a leathern belt beneath his shirt. He put on his vest and over it a sort of great-coat, slung his gun by its shoulder-belt, secured his pistols, and then taking from one of his trunks a large woolen cloak he wrapped Alix in it, and lifted her like a child of eight, while she crossed her little arms about his neck and rested her head on his bosom. Then he fol- lowed us into Mario's room, where his two associates were waiting. At another time we might have laughed at Maggie, but not now. She had slipped into her belt two horse-pistols. In one hand she held in leash her bull-dog Tom, and in the other a short carbine, her own property. CHAPTER VIII. MAGGIE AND THE ROBBERS. " We are going out of here together," said Mario ; " but John and I will conduct you only to the door of the hut. Thence we shall return to the flatboat, and all that two men can do to save our fortune shall be done. You, monsieur, have enough to do to take care of your daughters. To you, M. Carpentier — to you, son Celestino, I give the care of these women and children." "I can take care of myself," said Maggie. "You are four, well armed," continued Mario. (My father had his gun and pistols.) " This dog is worth two men. You have no risks to run ; the danger, if there be any, will be with the boat. Seeing us divided, they may ven- ture an attack; but one of you stand by the win- dow that faces the shore. If one of those men in the hut leave it, or show a wish to do so, fire one pistol-shot out of the window, and we shall be ready for them; but if you are attacked, fire two shots and we will come. Now, for- ward!" We went slowly and cautiously: 'Tino first, with a lantern; then the Irish pair and child; then Mario, leading his two younger boys, and Celeste, with her daughter asleep in her arms; and for rear-guard papa with one of us on each arm, and Joseph with his precious burden. The wind and the irregularities of the ground made us stumble at every step. The rain lashed us in the face and extorted from time to time sad lamentations from the chil- dren. But, for all that, we were in a few min- utes at the door of the hovel. "M. Carpentier," said Mario, "I give my family into your care." Joseph made no an- swer but to give his hand to the Italian. Mario strode away, followed by Gordon. " Knock on the door," said Joseph to 'Tino. The boy knocked. No sound was heard inside, except the growl of a dog. "Knock again." The same silence. "We can't stay here in this beating rain; open and enter," cried Carpentier. 'Tino threw wide the door and we walked in. There was but one room. A large fire burned in a clay chimney that almost filled one side of the cabin. In one corner four or five chick- ens showed their heads. In another, the wo- man was lying on a wretched pallet in all her clothes. By her slept the little creature Su- zanne had found, her ribbon still on her frock. Near one wall was a big chest on which another child was sleeping. A rough table was in the middle, on it some dirty tin plates and cups, and under it half a dozen dogs and two little boys. I never saw anything else like it. On the hearth stood the pot and skillet, still half full of hominy and meat. Kneeling by the fire was a young man mold- ing bullets and passing them to his father, seated on a stool at a corner of the chimney, who threw them into a jar of water, taking them out again to even them with the handle of a knife. I see it still as if it was before my eyes. The woman opened her eyes, but did not stir. The dogs rose tumultuously, but Tom showed his teeth and growled, and they went back under the table. The young man rose upon one knee, he and his father gazing stu- pidly at us, the firelight in their faces. We women shrank against our protectors, except Maggie, who let go a strong oath. The younger man was frightfully ugly; pale-faced, large- 3^4 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. eyed, haggard, his long, tangled, blonde hair on his shoulders. The father's face was written all over with depravity and crime. Joseph advanced and spoke to him. "What the devil of a language is that? " he asked of his son in English. "He is asking you," said Maggie, "to let us stay here till the storm is over." "And where do you come from this way?" "From that flatboat tied to the bank." " Well, the house is n't big nor pretty, but you are its masters." Maggie went and sat by the window, ready to give the signal. Pat sank at her feet, and laying his head upon Tom went straight to sleep. Papa sat down by the fire on an inverted box and took me on one knee. With her head against his other, Suzanne crouched upon the floor. We were silent, our hearts beating hard, wishing ourselves with mamma in St. James. Joseph set Alix upon a stool beside him and removed her wrapping. " Hello ! " said the younger stranger, " I thought you were carrying a child. It 's a woman ! " An hour passed. The woman in the corner seemed to sleep; Celeste, too, slumbered. When I asked Suzanne, softly, if she was asleep, she would silently shake her head. The men went on with their task, not speaking. At last they finished, divided the balls between them, put them into a leathern pouch at their belt, and the father, rising, said : " Let us go. It is time." Maggie raised her head. The elder man went and got his gun and loaded it with two balls, and while the younger was muffling himself in an old blanket-overcoat such as we give to plantation negroes moved towards the door and was about to pass out. But quicker than light- ning Maggie had raised the window, snatched a pistol from her belt, and fired. The two men stood rooted, the elder frowning at Maggie. Tom rose and showed two rows of teeth. " What did you fire that pistol for ? What signal are you giving ? " " That is understood at the flatboat," said Maggie, tranquilly. " I was to fire if you left the house. You started, I fired, and that 's all." " ! And did you know, by yourself, what we were going to do?" " I have n't a doubt. You were simply going to attack and rob the flatboat." A second oath, fiercer than the first, escaped the man's lips. " You talk that way to me ! Do you forget that you 're in my power ? " " Ah ! Do you think so ? " cried Maggie, resting her fists on her hips. "Ah, ha, ha!" That was the first time I ever heard her laugh — and such a laugh ! " Don't you know, my dear sir, that at one turn of my hand this dog will strangle you like a chicken ? Don't you see four of us here armed to the teeth, and at an- other signal our comrades yonder ready to join us in an instant ? And besides, this minute they are rolling a little cannon up to the bow of the boat. Go, meddle with them, you '11 see." She lied, but her lie averted the attack. She quietly sat down again and paid the scoun- drel not the least attention. " And that 's the way you pay us for taking you in, is it ? Accuse a man of crime because he steps out of his own house to look at the weather ? Well, that 's all right." While the man spoke he put his gun into a corner, re- sumed his seat, and lighted a cob pipe. The son had leaned on his gun during the colloquy. Now he put it aside and lay down upon the floor to sleep. The awakened children slept. Maggie sat and smoked. My father, Joseph, and 'Tino talked in low tones. All at once the old ruffian took his pipe from his mouth and turned to my father. "Where do you come from?" " From New Orleans, sir." " How long have you been on the way ? "■ " About a month." '* And where are you going ? " etc. Joseph, like papa, remained awake, but like him, like all of us, longed with all his soul for the end of that night of horror. At the first crowing of the cock the denizens of the hut were astir. The father and son took their guns and went into the forest. The fire was relighted. The woman washed some hom- iny in a pail and seemed to have forgotten our presence; but the little girl recognized Alix,, who took from her own neck a bright silk handkerchief and tied it over the child's head,, put a dollar in her hand, and kissed her fore- head. Then it was Suzanne's turn. She cov- ered her with kisses. The little one laughed^ and showed the turban and the silver that "the pretty lady," she said, had given her. Next, my sister dropped, one by one, upon the pallet ten dollars, amazing the child with these playthings; and then she took off" her red belt and put it about her little pet's neck. My father handed me a handful of silver. "They are very poor, my daughter; pay them well for their hospitality." As I approached the woman I heard Joseph thank her and offer her money. " What do you want me to do with that ? '^ she said, pushing my hand away. " Instead of that, send me some coffee and tobacco." That ended it ; I could not pay in money. But when I looked at the poor woman's dress so ragged and torn, I took off [J'autai] my shawl, which was large and warm, and put it STRANGE TRUE STORIES OE LOUISIANA. 365 on her shoulders,-- I had another m the boat, — and she was well content. When I got back to the flatboat I sent her some chemises, petticoats, stockings, and a pair of shoes. The shoes were papa's. Alix also sent her three skirts and two chemises, and Suzanne two old dresses and two chemises for her children, cut- ting down what was too large. Before quitting the hut Celeste had taken from her two lads their knitted neckerchiefs and given them to the two smaller boys, and Maggie took the old shawl that covered Pat's shoulders and threw it upon the third child, who cried out with joy. At length we returned to our vessel, which had triumphantly fought the wind and floating trees. Mario took to the cabin our gifts, to which we added sugar, biscuits, and a sack of pecans. CHAPTER IX. ALIX DE MORAINVILLE. For two weeks more our boat continued its slow and silent voyage among the bayous. We saw signs of civilization, but they were still far apart. These signs alarmed Mario. He had already chosen his place of abode and spoke of it with his usual enthusiasm ; a prai- rie where he had camped for two weeks with his young hunters five years before. " A principality — that is what I count on establishing there," he cried, pushing his hand through his hair. ''And think! — if, maybe, some one has occupied it ! Oh, the thief ! the robber ! Let him not fall into my hands ! I '11 strangle — I '11 kill him ! " My father, to console him, would say that it would be easy to find other tracts just as fine. " Never ! " replied he, rolling his eyes and brandishing his arms; and his fury would grow until Maggie cried : " He is Satan himself! He 's the devil ! " One evening the flatboat stopped a few miles only from where is now the village of Pattersonville. The weather was magnificent, and while papa, Gordon, and Mario went hunting, Joseph, Alix, and we two walked on the bank. Little by little we wandered, and, burying ourselves in the interior, we found our- selves all at once confronting a little cottage embowered in a grove of oranges. Alix uttered a cry of admiration and went towards the house. We saw that it was uninhabited and must have been long abandoned. The little kitchen, the poultry-house, the dovecote, were in ruins. But the surroundings were admirable : in the rear a large court was entirely shaded with live-oaks ; in front was the green belt of orange trees ; farther away Bayou Teche, like a blue ribbon, marked a natural boundary, and at the bottom of the picture the great trees of the forest lifted their green-brown tops. " Oh ! " cried Alix, " if I could stay here I should be happy." " Who knows ? " replied Joseph. " The owner has left the house ; he may be dead. Who knows but I may take this place ? " " Oh ! I pray you, Joseph, try. Try ! " At that moment my father and Mario appeared, looking for us, and Alix cried : " Welcome, gentlemen, to my domain," Joseph told of his wife's wish and his hope. . . . " In any case," said Mario, " count on us. If you decide to settle here we will stay two weeks — a month, if need be — to help you establish yourself." As soon as we had breakfasted my father and Joseph set out for a plantation which they saw in the distance. They found it a rich es- tate. The large, well-built house was sur- rounded by outbuildings, stables, granaries, and gardens ; fields of cane and corn extended to the limit of view. The owner, M. Gerbeau, was a young Frenchman. He led them into the house, presented them to his wife, and of- fered them refreshments. [M. Gerbeau tells the travelers how he had come from the Mississippi River parish of St. Bernard to this place with all his effects in a schooner — doubtless via the mouth of the river and the bay of Atchafalaya; while Joseph is all impatience to hear of the little deserted home concerning which he has inquired. But finally he explains that its owner, a lone Swede, had died of sunstroke two years before, and M. Gerbeau'sbest efforts to find, through the Swed- ish consul at New Orleans or otherwise, a suc- cessor to the little estate had been unavailing. Joseph could take the place if he would. He ended by generously forcing upon the father of Fran9oise and Suzanne the free use of his traveling-carriage and " two horses, as gentle as lambs and as swift as deer," with which to make their journey up the Teche to St. Martinsville, the gay, not to say giddy, little capital of the royalist e?nig7-es. ] My father wished to know what means of transport he could secure, on his return to this point, to take us home. " Don't let that trouble you ; I will arrange that. I already have a plan — you shall see." The same day the work began on the Car- pentiers' home. The three immigrants and 'Tino fell bravely to work, and M. Gerbeau brought his carpenter and a cart-load of lum- ber. Two new rooms were added. The kitchen was repaired, then the stable, the dovecote, the poultry-house ; the garden fences were re- stored; also those of the field. My father gave Joseph one of his cows ; the other was prom- ised to Carlo. Mme. Gerbeau was with us 366 STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. much, helping AHx, as were we. We often dined with her. One Sunday M. Gerbeau came for us very early and insisted that Mario and Gordon should join us. Maggie, with her usual phlegm, had declined. At dinner our host turned the conversation upon St. Martinsville, naming again all the bar- ons, counts, and marquises of whom he had spoken to my father, and descanting especially on the grandeur of the balls and parties he had there attended. "And we have only our camayeu skirts!" cried Suzanne. " Daughter," observed papa, " be content with what you have. You are neither a duch- ess nor a countess, and besides you are travel- ing." " And," said M. Gerbeau, " the stores there are full of knickknacks that would capture the desires of a queen." On returning to our flatboat Alix came into my room, where I was alone, and laying her head on my shoulder : " Fran9oise," she said, " I have heard men- tioned to-day the dearest friend I ever had. That Countess de la Houssaye of whom M. Gerbeau spoke is Madelaine de Livilier, my companion in convent, almost my sister. We were married nearly at the same time ; we were presented at court the same day; and now here we are, both, in Louisiana ! " "O Alix!" I cried, "I shall see her. Papa has a letter to her husband ; I shall tell her ; she will come to see you ; and — " " No, no ! You must not speak of me, Fran- goise. She knew and loved the Countess Alix de Morainville. I know her; she would repel with scorn the wife of the gardener. I am happy in my obscurity. Let nothing remind me of other days." Seeing that Alix said nothing of all this to Suzanne, I imitated her example. With all her goodness, Suzanne was so thoughtless and talk- ative ! CHAPTER X. ALIX PLAYS FAIRY. PARTING TEARS. In about fifteen days the work on the cot- tage was nearly done and the moving began. Celeste, and even Maggie, offering us their ser- vices. Alix seemed enchanted. "Two things, only, I lack," she said — "a sofa, and something to cover the walls." One morning M. Gerbeau sent to Carpen- tier a horse, two fine cows and their calves, and a number of sheep and pigs. At the same time two or three negresses, loaded down with chickens, geese, and ducks, made their appear- ance. Also M. Gerbeau. " What does all this mean ? " asked Joseph. " This is the succession of the dead Swede," replied the generous young man. " But I have no right to hjs^succession," " That 's a question," re^onded M. Ger- beau. "You have inherited the house, you must inherit all. If claimants appear— well, you will be responsible to them. You will please give me a receipt in due form ; that is all." Tears came into Carpentier's eyes. ... As he was signing the receipt M. Gerbeau stopped him. "Wait; I forgot something. At the time of Karl's [the Swede's] death, I took from his crib fifty barrels of corn ; add that." " O sir ! " cried Joseph, " that is too much r— too much." " Write ! " said M. Gerbeau, laying his hand on Joseph's shoulder, "if you please. I am giving you nothing ; I am relieving myself of a burden." My dear daughter, if I have talked very much about Alix it is because talking about her is such pleasure. She has been so good to my sister and me ! The memory of her is one of the brightest of my youth. The flatboat was to go in three days. One morning, when we had passed the night with Mme. Gerbeau, Patrick came running to say that " Madame 'Lix" wished to see us at once. We hastened to the cottage. Alix met us on the gallery [veranda]. " Come in, dear girls. I have a surprise for you and a great favor to ask. I heard you say, Suzanne, you had nothing to wear—" " But our camayeu petticoats ! " " But your camayeu petticoats." She smiled. " And they, it seems, do not tempt your vanity. You want better ? " " Ah, indeed we do ! " replied Suzanne. " Well, let us play Cinderella. The dresses of velvet, silk, and lace, the jewels, the slip- pers— all are in yonder chest. Listen, my dear girls. Upon the first signs of the Revolution my frightened mother left France and crossed into England. She took with her all her ward- robe, her jewels, the pictures from her bed- room, and part of her plate. She bought, before going,. a quantity of silks and ribbons. . . . When I reached England my mother was dead, and all that she had possessed was restored to me by the authorities. My poor mother loved dress, and in that chest is all her apparel. Part of it I had altered for my own use ; but she w^as much larger than I — taller than you. I can neither use them nor consent to sell them. If each of you will ac- cept a ball toilet, you will make me very happy." And she looked at us with her eyes full of supplication, her hands clasped. We each snatched a hand and kissed it. STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. 367 Then she opened the chest, and for the first and last time in my Hfe I saw fabrics, orna- ments, and coiffures that truly seemed to have been made by the fairies. After many trials and much debate she laid aside for me a lovely dress of blue brocade glistening with large sil- ver flowers the reflections of which seemed like rays of light. It was short in front, with a train ; was very full on the sides, and caught up with knots of ribbon. The long pointed waist was cut square and trimmed with mag- nificent laces that re-appeared on the half-long sleeves. The arms, to the elbow, were to be covered with white frosted gloves fastened with twelve silver buttons. To complete my toilet she gave me a blue silk fan beautifully painted, blue satin slippers with high heels and silver buckles, white silk stockings with blue clocks, a broidered white cambric handkerchief trimmed with Brussels point lace, and, last, a lovely set of silver filigree that she assured us was of slight value, comprising the necklace, the comb, the earrings, bracelets, and a belt whose silver tassels of the same design fell down the front of the dress. My sister's toilet was exactly like mine, save that it was rose color. Alix had us try them on. While our eyes were ravished, she, with more expert taste, decided to take up a little in one place, lower a ribbon in another, add something here, take away there, and, above all, to iron the whole with care. We staid all day helping her ; and when, about 3 o'clock, all was finished, our fairy godmother said she would now dress our hair, and that we must observe closely. " For Suzanne will have to coifte Frangoise and Frangoise coiffe Suzanne," she said. She took from the chest two pasteboard boxes that she said contained the headdresses belonging to our costumes, and, making me sit facing my sister, began to dress her hair. I was all eyes. I did not lose a movement of the comb. She lifted Suzanne's hair to the middle of the head in two rosettes that she called r'lqiiettes and fastened them with a silver comb. Next, she made in front, or rather on the forehead, with hairpins, numberless little knots, or v/horls, and placed on each side of the head a plume of white, rose-tipped feathers, and in front, oppo- site the riquettes, placed a rose surrounded with silver leaves. Long rose-colored, silver-frosted ribbons falling far down on the back com- pleted the headdress, on which Alix dusted handfuls of silver powder. Can you believe it, my daughter, that was the first time my sister and I had ever seen artificial flowers ? They made very few of them, even in France, in those days. While Suzanne admired herself in the mir- ror I took her place. My headdress differed from hers in the ends of my feathers being blue, and in the rose being white, surrounded by pale blue violets and a few silver leaves. And now a temptation came to all of us. Alix spoke first : " Now put on your ball-dresses and I will send for our friends. What do you think ? " " Oh, that would be charming ! " cried Su- zanne. " Let us hurry ! " And while we dressed, Pat, always prowling about the cottage, was sent to the flatboat to get his parents and the Carlos, and to M. Gerbeau's to ask my father and M. and Mme. Gerbeau to come at once to the cottage. . . . No, I cannot tell the cries of joy that greeted us. The children did not know us, and Maggie had to tell Pat over and over that these were Miss Souzie and Miss Francise. My father's eyes filled with tears as he thanked Alix for her goodness and gen- erosity to us. Alas ! the happiest days, like the saddest, have an end. On the morrow the people in the flatboat came to say good-bye. Mario cried like a child. Celeste carried Alix's hands to her lips and said in the midst of her tears : " O Madame ! I had got so used to you — ■ I hoped never to leave you." " I will come to see you, Celeste," replied Alix to the young mulattress, " I promise you." Maggie herself seemed moved, and in tak- ing leave of Alix put two vigorous kisses on her cheeks. As to our father, and us, too, the adieus were not final, we having promised Mario and Gordon to stop [on their journey up the shore of the bayou] as soon as we saw the flatboat. " And we hope, my dear Carlo, to find you established in your principality." " Amen ! " responded the Italian. Alix added to her gifts two pairs of chamois- skin gloves and a box of lovely artificial flowers. Two days after the flatboat had gone, we having spent the night with Alix, came M. Gerbeau's carriage to take us once more upon our journey. Ah! that was a terrible moment. Even Alix could scarce hold back the tears. We refused to get into the carriage, and walked, all of us together, to M. Gerbeau's, and then parted amid tears, kisses, and promises. (To be continued.) Geo)xe W. Cable. PAGAN IRELAND. TUDY of a nation's past is not waste of time though it leave one with little better understanding of the present. No land has more anomalies to show than Ireland, baffles more its own law-givers and puzzles more the persons who hold themselves competent to legislate for it. In the following pages I hope by analysis of the national character in the light of mythology, literature, language, and monuments to indicate what elements have gone to the making of a brave but unfortunate people, and to explain thereby, after a fashion however rude, some of the peculiarities that have alternately charmed and daunted the friends of Erin. The study has been far from a narrow one, and the re- sults apply to a much wider range of people than those within the four provinces. If they are correct, they teach many curious facts regarding the ancestors of nearly every people of Europe and America. For the past seven centuries Ireland has been so disturbed within by political and re- ligious faction and so interfered with from without that prosperity has not reached it like other lands. As a slender offset, the poverty of the community has kept the restorer's hand from many objects of value to antiquaries; misery has forced the people to turn for relief and consolation to the legends and literature of periods when the population was relatively large and the nation more on terms of equality with the rest of Europe. Persecution of heathen customs and beliefs by Christian converts a thousand years ago, gentle though it was com- pared with the same movement elsewhere, at- tached the Irish to their ancient superstitions. Much more did Protestant bigotry, confound- ing the remains of heathenism with Roman Catholicism, beget in the masses a love for all national records. The very rage of men who hunted priests and ruined the family owning a book in the old tongue, treated hedge-poet and hedge-schoolmaster as felons, and dragooned a peasantry restive under an oligarchy upheld by the British Parliament, was of service to us in causing the folk to esteem, as under hap- pier circumstances they never would have es- teemed, the records of their past. Geographical circumstances are such that traits, habits, customs, laws, legends, and relig- ious ideas which once existed in Europe at large, but more particularly in the Baltic prov- inces, Germany, the Netherlands, Denmark, and France, are now to be found alive only in remote places like Ireland, or embedded in such a literature as Ireland owns — one of the most wonderful in Europe. Noting the map, you find the island westward in the Atlantic, yet near enough to southern Gaul to make it cer- tain that from very remote periods commerce and conquest would flow to and fro past Land's End as well as by way of Britain. Hence Ireland would receive the overflow of each folk-wave of Europe, but not always and of necessity across the Irish Sea. Great Britain is protected by the Silver Streak ; but the fame of the Irish strait for wrecks, the sinister name of the country for witchcraft in early centuries, and the supposed ferocity of its denizens, gave Ireland double security. The force of the wave would be apt to be spent, the conquerors rel- atively few, the area conquered small, and the chance of the overthrown to survive relatively good compared with nations in France and Germany. Had Ireland been much smaller, there had been less energy to rise after con- quest and assimilate the intruders. Had she been much larger, she would have been in- vaded by greater hordes. Had she been less fertile, she had lacked the means to foster literature and the arts, for there had been no margin for rewards to poets, historians, priests, artisans. Her records had not been so abun- dant as to survive in any quantity, but would have disappeared like those of Scotland and Wales— countries of small size, mixed of much the same ethnic elements. We find in her his- tory the beach-marks of movements in Europe which have left elsewhere few signs. Hence from Ireland we may be able to reconstruct the past, not of the Irish alone, but of the Welsh, Scotch, Old British, and Gauls, and of other peoples less near of kin. Her literature is a storehouse for the understanding of that officina gentium in dread of which the Latins stood and which included many other peoples beside the Teutons. That " Eriu," as the island was called by the natives, should retain many traces of the pagan past is remarkable when we recall that Chris- tianity reached it very early. It is true that in the ninth century heathen hordes from the Baltic cut a wide swath, plundering as well for revenge as for booty. Charlemagne had barbarously slaughtered their heathen kindred on the Rhine " for the love of God " ; so the adventurers singled out rehgious settlements and cemeteries as much for the plunder of al- PAGAN IRELAND. 369 tars and graves as for the pleasure of slaying priests and monks. Where an old castle shat- tered by gunpowder in the Cromwellian wars .overlooks a plain of river-stretches, fat mead- ows, arable lands, and bog at Clonmicnois, on the Shannon, a famous leader of exiles from the Baltic seized the monastery church and schools. He has been identified from Icelandic cessions to the people after acceptance from the chiefs. Undoubtedly a few cases of the violent destruction of idols occurred. One large image was broken by Patrick somewhat as in Germany at a later period Charlemagne destroyed the Irminseul, a Keltic dalla?i, or monolith, taken over from the ousted Kelts by the Saxons when the latter moved into the heart of Germany, MEDIEVAL CASTLE AT CLONMICNOIS. records as Ragnar Lodbrog, the conqueror of Northumberland. A woman who accompa- nied him held pagan rites there. Seated on the high altar, which ran with the blood of men and beasts, she gave prophetic answers like one of the Druidesses mentioned in the Gaelic records of centuries before. Ota, her given name, means "awe" or "horror"; but she has been identified also as Aslaug, daughter of Sigurd, who sailed away with Ragnar in the character of a Valkyr, or war goddess. Had Ragnar understood the Irish and known how thin the varnish of Christianity was, he might have called forth the paganism in the people and established his line as overlords of the island. But he took the Irish at their word, and slaughtered them as Christians until his rule disappeared in blood, as it was founded. According to the native records he was slain at last by youths in the dress of girls. So it came about that the Danish invasions, as they were called, left no heathen mark be- hind them on the laws and religion; they merely caused certain changes in architecture and town life, which may wait to be explained. The men of the Baltic who settled later in Ire- land, founding the chief cities, Dublin, Wex- ford, Waterford, Cork, and Limerick, were nominally Christian. No, the paganism of Ire- land was completely blent with Christianity before these "Danes" arrived. As introduced by St. Patrick three centuries before, it was a most primitive faith, unsupported by armies or by influence and forced to win a way by con- VoL. XXXVIL— 51. The Irish idol, surrounded by satellites which may have signified the months or seasons of the year, was called Crom, the Maggot, in allusion, it is said, to the flesh of human victims with which it was fed according to Druidic rite. About it was the Bloody Plain, so called because the pagans mutflated forehead, nose, and arms by beating themselves against the ground, or cutting themselves in other parts of the body with knives. So the civilized Indians of Mexico and Yucatan worshiped gods of fire and the sun; so the nations of Palestine, not excluding the Hebrews, sought merit by the infliction of wounds. Horrors and infamies like these the Church attacked ; she waged war against the burning alive for theft, infidelity, and other crimes, against the immolation of children, and polygamy. But in general the Church was too weak to carry matters with a high hand. Even more than in Italy and Gaul she adopted diplomatic methods perforce ; but having once established herself, the native Church was hostile to further changes from any source whatsoever. Hence by a wise toler- ation of the bards, legends, customs, and least obnoxious rites, and even of some idols, the Church established herself and at the same time preserved for us the greater part of what we know of Keltic paganism. When the land-hungry band of Welsh and Norman barons entered Ireland they found a shrine of St. Brigit at Kildare with a fire kept constantly burning. Twenty nuns watched it in rotation day and night ; the man who dared 370 PAGAN IRELAND. WICKER HOUSES FROM THE COLUMN OF ANTONINUS. (BY PERMISSION OF WILLIAMS & NORGATE.) to enter its inclosure fell dead. St. Brigit rep- resents a patroness of learning great in re- nown among the pagan British and Gauls as well. The latter called her Brigindo; accord- ing to votive altars discovered in France and England, the British name was Brigantia. Her rites, as described by Giraldus de Barry, were plainly heathen, and belonged to the worship of fire and the sun. We learn of nature-wor- ship of a primitive cast in the story of Loegaire of Ulster, a powerful king. He favored St, Patrick and caused many of the under-kings to accept the faith ; but when he made an oath it was by the gods of the elements. Captured by the Leinstermen while collecting his boru^ or tribute in cattle, he gave pledges that he would never return for tribute. " Pledges were given to the Leinstermen — that is, the sun and moon, water and air, day and night, sea and land — that he would not demand the born during his life." The curses invoked in case of failure to abstain from his exac- tions were fatal to Loegaire. Going against Leinster once more for trib- ute, he " died there of the sun, and the wind, and the other pledges, for one durst not transgress them at that time." Again we hear of another king. "These were the pledges which Tuathal took, mighty at exacting — heaven, earth, sun, pure moon, sea, land, harvest." A later phase of religion is shown by goddesses w^ho stand for the various emotions of battle. One was called Badb, another Fea, a third Ana, a fourth Morrigu, a fifth Macha, a sixth Neman. The first is found in France on an altar under the form Catubo- dua, or Badb of batdes. In Frisia the Romans were very fitly defeated at Baduhenna, a place that recalls this old Keltic war-goddess. Neman seems to have struck panic amtog soldiers and caused them to mistake friend for foe. Macha gave the instinct to mutilate and exult over the slain ; but all animate to the slaughter, all are grim and terrible fiends. Compared with die Val- kyrs of the Norse they offer every sign of great antiquity. The Valkyrs might be taken from them by a race arrived at a higher stage of cultivation, but they could not derive from the Valkyrs. Undoubtedly there were many mem- bers of the Irish pantheon on a lower scale than these, spirits of mountain, valley, and river, whose names occur as famous fairies, male and female, haunting certain spots. Suchin Finland were Tapio, god of the forest ; Wirokannas, ruler of the wilderness; and Maahiset, the pigmies. Doubtless the pagan elements rose up in Ireland again and again, favored by the destruction of churches and abuses in the Church itself. Parts of the island may have remained untouched by the faith at the very age when Europe was filled with learned and zealous Irish monks carrying the word to heathen Swiss, Flemings, Franks, and Germans. Poets are generally contempt- uous of clerics, as the ballads of Oisin and St. Patrick show. In Ireland the guild as- sumed many of the less obnoxious traits of the Druids ; they preserved themselves by out- ward conformity, but in secret retained a num- ber of magical tricks. By their aid it is that CROSS AT MONASTERBOICE, SHOWING SUN-WHEEL. PAGAN IRELAND. 371 we can pry and probe a little into the dark past of the Kelts and of Europe. One has but to look at the Irish cross to •see paganism in the chief symbol of the faith. The cross part is not Latin, but Greek, and tells a story of the early commerce with the Greek city of Marseilles and the East by the valley of the Garonne; recalls the fact that a special spot in famous Irish fairs was set apart for Greek merchants ; that Caesar re- instead of a globe. Coins of Gaul of the time of Vercingetorix bear the even-armed cross with florid connections between the ends which represented a four-spoked wheel. The Irish- man who saw a bicycle for the first time ex- claimed, " Riding on a wheel, like the devil ! " In the old paganism, of which he still feels the stirrings, a god whom his ancestors feared rode upon, or carried, a wheel. The priests ex- plained this god to be the devil ; certainly devil- ROUND TOWER AT ARDMORE, SHOWING BANDS LIKE WICKER HOUSES. ported the use of Greek letters among the Gauls; and that the legends are full of terms like " King of Greece," " Daughter of the Greek King." It suggests the myths of tem- porary residence, on the part of celebrated founders of Irish nations, in Thrace, Greece, or Egypt. But the Irish cross is as much a wheel as a cross. It is in truth the pagan sym- bol of the sun's wheel baptized but scarcely disguised, the emblem seen in the hand of bronze images from France, or carved on altars found there with pagan inscriptions. Gauls on the reliefs of the Arch of Orange wear the sun-wheel on their helmets, and a window of stained glass in Chartres Cathedral shows Christ and certain apostles in direct rela- tion with the same symbol. The praying- wheel exists in old chapels in Brittany as a religious toy, formerly used with rites half magical under the sanction of the local clergy. In old Greece a Nemesis was depicted with a wheel ; Fortuna also was placed sometimes on a wheel ish were some of his attributes and devilish the toll he exacted ; wherefore by way of legend, or by a subtler road, the modern peasant saw the analogy and with his customary shrewd- ness spoke. The pagan survives in architecture. Build- ings were generally square and of wood, or round and of wattles plastered with clay and painted in bright colors. After Christianity was established and the use of stone became less rare in religious and military life, the con- servative bent of the people kept a form of tower no longer represented in Great Britain and the mainland. As early as the twelfth century, when the Norman- Welsh began to make stone the rule instead of the exception, Giraldus, the traveled prelate, talks of ecclesias- tical towers, " which according to the custom of the country are slender and lofty and more- over round." He knew that they were peculiar but did not suspect that this form of tower represented an inheritance from a pagan religion 372 PAGAN IRELAND. any more than he saw the paganism of the rites at the shrine of St. Brigit. Yet unlettered Irish tradition has kept the thread of fact with- out being able to give the historical sequences. In its immediate use the round tower was a sort of military necessity, and came after the ruin of monastic settlements by the pagans from the Baltic. During sudden raids it was a place of security which could not be burned down like the timber churches near by or the wattled cabins of monks and clerics within the cashel wall. It was a belfry whence hand-bells were rung to call the students to school and the faithful to prayer. It was a watch-tower and beacon. But it re^^xhes through military usage back to pagan times. In a polished and highly artificial shape, due to Byzantine science in architecture, it represents the rude wattled house of Gauls. Seeing how the Irish kept heathen ideas in other things, we can perceive 1 ^ IjSfc*"? "i^mk^'^^ , J^'H i J^- *^S«* >- UPPER STONE OF QUERN, WITH SUN-WHEEL DECORATION. how the round wicker house of the Kelt, such as we see it carved on the column of Antoni- nus at Rome, developed into the wood and wicker outlook tower and beacon, and in skill- ful hands became the Irish round tower per- petuated to our day by the hundred or more shafts of cut stone which lend charm to as many Irish landscapes. Christian in usage, they are pagan in design. The Northmen caused the demand, heathenism supplied the pattern, and Byzantine craftsmen, driven from the East by the bigotry of the image-breaking emperors, supplied the science to rear towers more durable, useful, simple, yet stately, than anything Ireland had seen before or has seen since. The history of towers in Mohammedan countries which can be derived from a worship of the heavenly bodies supplies a very remark- able parallel which the archaeologists of the last century perceived but could not define. In America the round tower, with its high entrance and adaptation to watchers and sun worship, is found among the extinct cliff-dwell- ing Indians. Towers in Mexico and Yucatan were in use for the same purpose. Observe in the round tower preserved at Ardmore the bands which repeat, without any useful object in stone, the horizontal bands that strength- ened the tall wicker house of Gauls. Such ap- parently trivial points weigh heavily in favor of the indigenous character of the round tower of Ireland. Carved figures of a grotesque barbarousness too unseemly to be reproduced have been found about the island, even in the walls of a church. They aire the degraded remains of a worship of the creative processes of nature overlooked in the first zeal of iconoclasm. For an island without snakes that reptile has strange prom- inence in carved and illuminated work of Chris- tian times. Cross and grave-stone bore the emblem of Christ, but on the sides of the shaft appeared the pagan decorative designs to which the sculptor was accustomed, which the people had inherited, and which they dimly understood as lucky. As the coarsest figure might leer with goggle eyes and protrud- ing tongue from the chapel wall, finding pro- tection under the wing of the conservative church of Ireland, so the serpent emblems in- vaded the margins of missals and rubrics of Holy Writ, and were not only preserved but were fashioned by Christian monks, scarcely aware that these were to teach us something of the pagan past. Gaulish reliefs have the serpent in connection with a Keltic god, per- haps representing night and death. In the Kalewala, Hisi, spirit of evil, a pagan Satan, creates the serpent from the spittle of Suoyatar, a female demon. Hisi heard this conversation Ever ready with his mischief, Made himself to be creator, Breathed a soul into the spittle To fell Suoyatar's fierce anger. Thus arose the poison-monster. i Pagan altar-horns found in Denmark show many serpents in those compartments which are thought to represent the realm of death and hell. How are we to account for the pertinacity with which the old Irish held fast to beliefs, traditions, and objects which be- long to a past epoch and have relations with races and peoples who seem disconnected from the Keltic past? We speak for convenience of the past of Ire- land as Keltic. What gives us warrant so to do ? Not the historians, who are more anxious 1 J. M. Crawford's translation. PAGAN IRELAND. 373 to call only the best of the old swarms Gaelic than to claim them all. Not the wider view of Europe and Asia which is now entertained, for that does not warrant a likelihood that one race settled Ireland. Soon the term will be inade- quate to express it, when the many-colored threads that form the present Irish nation shall be unraveled and separately examined. Analysis that should start from the present day backward would bring into relief a steady influx of English, Welsh, and Scotch allured by the comparative cheapness of land at cer- tain periods. It would consider the planta- tions formed in Ulster by London corporations, the confiscations under William III., which brought English, German, and Dutch blood into the land. After Cromwell's campaign there was a wholesale peopling of the best lands of the dispossessed by soldiers and colonists from England, and the same thing occurred at other times on a less extensive scale. Before Elizabeth and Henry VIII., the conquerors of parts of the island, with their men of Welsh, Flemish, and Norman blood, were merged into the Keltic mass — and yet only seven centu- ries have been traversed. Were these the only inroads of foreign blood one might think that according to ordinary rules of intermarriage, and notwithstanding strong prejudices of rank and race, there could hardly be in Ireland to- day such a person as a Kelt of pure stock. But before 1172, when an English king first assumed to own the island, the same infusion of non-Irish blood went forward. Scandinavian princes ruled at Dublin, Wexford, Waterford, Cork, Limerick, and Galway, intermarrying with Irish ruling houses, and setting an ex- ample to their subjects. Scotch armies came to Ireland, and Irish troops went to Alba, as we see in Shakspere. Slavery was the rule at a still earlier date ; the raids by sea brought ^'foreign bond-women" into Ireland from all the shores, and the slave-trade supplied Irish markets with women and children from the Saxon provinces of Great Britain. Yet for all that Ireland remained Keltic in spirit if not pure in blood, because the people assimilated the set- tlers, wave after wave. At various times Gaelic drove out Norse, Norman- French, and English. Before Christian times, at any rate, one might expect to find all pure Kelts. Yet the deeper we probe the less certain is it that the first centuries of our era saw Ireland occupied throughout by Gaels. Doubtless the language was Gaelic in the main. But the written lan- guage during the Middle Ages proves that Gaelic was not the soft, slurring tongue that we now hear, " telescoping " syllables and avoiding harsh meetings of consonants. It must have been a rough, consonantal speech full of harsh gutturals, or these would never V Cj ROUND TOWER AT MAYAPAN, YUCATAN. INDIAN TYPE. have found their way into the written words. The common German,, who turns hard g into y and melts two syllables into one, is a purist compared with the Gael, wdio thinks nothing of making a word of three syllables but one in pronunciation, who turns b into ;;/, / into /z, gh into 7, and otherwise departs in his speech from the letters laid down centuries ago as the proper spelling of words. Wherefore the change ? The answer is one of many that may result from the view of Ireland's past taken in this paper. It also affords by analogy an explanation of the similar but less extreme phenomenon observed in the speech of un- educated Germans to-day. In Ireland each century saw the educated classes who spoke Gaelic as it was written abandon it for Latin, or for Norman-French, or for English. Each century it was left more and more to the uneducated commons. Now if the commons were largely descended from quite another race, on whom the Gaels had im- posed their tongue and yoke; if from that other language, which they had lost, they retained what disappears last, — tricks of the tongue, inability to pronounce certain consonants, dis- like to hear certain combinations of sound, a fashion of telescoping words and avoiding sounds that cannot easily be sung, — then the fashions of speech peculiar to the vanished language would live on in the tongue of the conquerors. As the servile class became free, it would affect the speech of the whole nation; 374 PAGAN IRELAND, as the upper classes ceased to speak their own language, the corrupted or modified Gaelic would become the standard. This has hap- pened to the Irish. There were certain tribes — some enslaved, others tributary, others almost free — who were demi-gods, the heroes and famous ancestors of the subject tribes, would enter more into the mass of legend and song ; but the revolutionists would be too divided into local bands and too mixed with Gaelic tribes reduced to their level by poverty and war to permit of any not Kelts originally, and in former epochs did national feeling apart from the Gaels. So the not speak a Keltic tongue. There is reason to Saxons were forced to accept Norman- French, believe that the Picts were not Keltic and that and the modern Irish, for the most part, to they lived in Ireland and Britain before the learn that mixture of Saxon, Norman, and Keltic which we know under the misleading name of English. Traces of an early non-Keltic race will be found in the legends and fairy-tales, ghost and specter stories, in the wonderful heroic literature of the island, once as- sumed to be non-existing, then acknowledged but neglected, now found by a delighted world to be full of instruction for those who seek learning, and color for those who like unhackneyed literature. The Brehon law also shows their track, and the histories composed by Gaels; the arts, architecture, and antiquities, moreover, which have made Ireland a rich field for the archaeolo- gist. Legends and ballads resting on a substratum of fact can be used to piece out the bare hints of history. Work- ing thus, the ethnol- ogist may find spots where the early non- Keltic blood is, if not pure, yet rela- tively strong, and detect the presence of a primitive race in the features and skulls of the people. A short, broad nose, a long upper lip, a thin or late devel- oping beard, high coming of the Kelts. What we know of these cheek-bones, short muscular figure, round earliest historical people is minimized by the head, broad face with small projecting chin, neglect of Gaelic historians and by their hos- brownish or yellowish complexion, and a tend- tility. Thus they have attributed bestial traits ency to dark and red hair, with gray eyes, are to theleadersof these tribes when they revolted characteristics that may serve as guides to a and massacred the nobles. One is called Cat- large infusion of this non- Keltic blood, rather head, another Doghead; frightful calamities than as sure signs of it. There are traces in befell river and plain, cow, fish, and orchard, the Hebrides and the north of Scotland, but while they held sway. Such temporary risings evictions and sheep-pastures have reduced it could not reestablish their old tongue ; only, to very small proportions, the foreign elements in Gaelic emanating from Let us see what distinctions have been made their tribes would be intensified ; the gods and in the population of Ireland in former times. JAVELIN AND SPEAR HEADS FROM THE RIVERS. PAGAN IRELAND. 375 In 1650 Macfirbis, the last of a distinguished family of historians in the West, a man of im- mense industry and research, quotes from an old book this " distinction which the profound historians draw " between Milesians, Dananns, and Firbolgs : Every one who is white of skin, brown of hair, bold, honorable, daring, prosperous, bountiful in the bestowal of property, wealth, and rings, and who is not afraid of battle or combat — they are the descend- ants of Milesius in Erinn. blood under Cromwell there existed traditions of differences in complexion and size between at least three streams of pagan settlers. Judging from internal evidence the composer of the rule thought that Milesians and Dananns were Gaels, the Firbolgs not. They were undoubt- edly the least Gaelic, and in his opinion little better than the crowd of serfs and peasants who were not worthy of mention. The Danann folk were much better, though tainted with magic and Druidism. The sons of Miledh formed his BRONZE SWORDS WITH BRONZE HANDLES, PAGAN EPOCH. Everyone who is fair-haired, vengeful, large ; and every plunderer; every musical person; the pro- fessors of musical and entertaining performances who are adepts in all Druidical and magical arts — they are the descendants of the De Danann in Erinn. Every one who is black-haired, who is a tattler, guileful, tale-telling, noisy, contemptible ; every wretched, mean, strolling, unsteady, harsh, and in- hospitable person ; every slave, every mean thief, every churl, every one who loves not to listen to music and entertainment, the disturbers of every council and every assembly, and the promoters of discord among people — these are the descendants of the Firbolgs in Erinn. Whoever composed this ready rule to find an Irishman's ancestry from his looks and charac- ter, it is certain that he was not a Firbolg. Though fierce with antique hatreds, it is proof that before the last great infusion of foreign standard of all that is most excellent in Kelts. Roughly this division would tally with a cross- section of medieval society, the Milesians, being nobles and gentry, on top; the Dananns, professional and tradesmen and artisans, in the middle ; the Firbolgs, ignorant and brutal- ized peasantry, at the bottom. Yet it preserves the traditional prejudices of the Gael. Note that the Milesians, who are posed as princes and nobles after the European ideals of the Middle Ages, " bountiful in the bestowal of property, wealth, and rings," — the substitute for coin, — are white-skinned, brown-haired men, not remarkable for size. That describes certain types found in the south and west of Ireland as well as on the opposite shores of France and down the coast of Spain. We can fancy the Milesians, who came last, greatly softened by Greek and Latin example before reaching 376 PAGAN IRELAND. the island. The description of the Danann folk is very like that given of the Gauls and other Keltic tribes who invaded Italy. A race hatred, as inextinguishable as that between Iran and Turan, the Aryans and Ugrians of Asia, is the only thing that will fully account for the bitterness of the description of the Firbolgs. It might have been written by a Persian wish- ing to blacken the Turkman who has ravaged his land, and whom he thinks " guileful, noisy, contemptible, mean, strolHng, unsteady, harsh, and inhospitable." The head of the Irish pantheon was the ^' good god " Dagde, who was in some re- spects like Saturn, in others like Thor, but oftener a comical character — a very old man who fed on porridge. As Thor was the head of the Asa gods, as Ukko was the venerable chief of the Finnic pantheon, so Dagde, be- fore he was degraded to the rank of a fairy, was a god like Saturn, venerable, but outshone by his children. Later he became like Waina- mo'inen, the god-like bard of Finland. He was old like him, a magician, but unlucky in various ways. More nearly a parallel to Hermes was Lug, the god from whom the cities of Lyons and Leyden derive their names ; but he had spe- ciahsts under him for various arts — Diancecht, patron of physicians ; Creidne, patron of bronze- workers ; Goibniu, the marvelous blacksmith ; Luchtine, the god of carpenters. A subterra- nean king of fairies, who was probably once a god, was Midir. A kind of Minerva, but the mother of a triplet of literary gods, was Brig or Brigit. The Isle of Man is named from Manannan, a Neptune afterwards reduced to a trader of magical powers. By the ninth cen- tury these gods had become humanized to such an extent that they seem heroes merely, fairies or magicians, and supplied that varied celestial and aerial fauna which delights us in the epic of Spenser, some of Shakspere's plays, the great Italian narrative poems, and the works of troubadours and trouveres. The variations in rank from full god to ordinary human being have given archaeologists much trouble ; for how is one to know at what date a story was composed and whether the author regarded a figure as that of a god or a man ? Very singular are the problems in historical perspective presented by these tales. We have authority for assigning to the people called De Danann (of the goddess Dana) the war-goddesses named already ; for in the cam- paigns between Dananns and Firbolgs these among them fight on the side of the former: Badb, Macha, and Morrigu. The god of elo- quence, Ogma, was also a power in their camp. From his name comes ogaw, which was an ancient writing, a secret jargon, and also a cipher which was notched on the edges of pillar- stones above men's graves, as in the illustration. Ob- serve that this stone has three pa- gan sun symbols. Below the large wheel, on each side of the arrow, is a swastika, or sun-mark, very much obliterated by weather. This was the Hercules Ogmios whose pic- ture Lucian saw — that Gaulish god wearing the trap- pings of the classic hero, but old, bent, bald, and drag- ging along a crowd of men by chains fastened to the tip of his tongue. From the goddess from whom the tuatJia or people De Danann got their name, de- scends the word Denmark, though the present Danes may have little of the blood of that old swarm which passed by north- ern Britain into Ireland. The Danish swamps have yielded weapons, horns, and chariots used in religious processions, whose appearance and decora- tions tally marvelously with the accounts of such things in the Irish tales. Doubtless they were preserved in heathen sanctuaries in Den- mark long after their general use went out else- where. A few of these deities we can give to the Danann tribes, but of the other gods, demi- gods, and deified great men it is hard to say to what swarm they belong. It is more profitable for the present to search history for grander subdivisions of the Irish people. In his sketch of the Finnic language the Finlander Kellgren made forty years ago a patriotic but it may be not unprophetic claim : If any language in the Ural-Altaic family can be assumed as a prototype of the others, and as a com- plete expression of their common character, this place of honor ought to be allowed the Finnic. It is the PAGAN GRAVESTONE, WITH SUN SYMBOLS AND OGAM CIPHER. PAGAN IRELAND. 377 only one to which enough quiet has been permitted to unfold without interruption its natural spirit. Ever attacked by alien nations, the Hungarians have in- habited in constant disquiet and continuous warfare one of the great fighting-grounds of diverse nations, and their speech has not been able to develop itself pure from alien elements. The Turks have been overpov/ered by the strength of a foreign culture. In its first budding the development and power of their language was interfered with. It is the Finnic folk alone, protected by the situation of its country, which has been able to evolve organically and un- influenced, in the deep shade of the woods and by the silent lakes of the home-land, a language pro- tected by the ballads of the past. I do not think that I am carried away by fallacious hope when I announce the expectation that many a bright ray will fall from the Finnic tongue upon the still obscure realm of languages belonging to its widely separated stock, and that therefore Finnic deserves something more than the interest of the specialist. The Keltic tongues belong to the Aryan group, the same family of languages as the San- skrit, Greek, Latin, and Gothic ; yet the Irish branch shows certain rudimental likenesses to the Finno-Ugrian or Ural-Altaic. Old Gaehc holds to modem Irish somewhat the position that early English does to our tongue. It is much more elaborate and requires a special study. Yet modern as well as ancient Irish shows a number of points of similarity with Finnic, and occasional likenesses to Hungarian and Turkish, chiefly in matters of pronuncia- tion; to a less degree in the formation of the sentence. The verb, for instance, takes prece- dence in the sentence, being the most impor- tant part thereof, whilst in German it brings up the rear. The vowel of the first syllable of a word is apt to give the sound for the suc- ceeding syllables. That contraction of several written sounds into one spoken syllable, which I have called telescoping ; that change of cer- tain consonants at the beginning of words when another word precedes, which is so marked in modern Irish and seems to have existed to some degree at least in old Gaelic ; that sensi- tiveness to the harsh sounds of many conso- nants coming together — these are fundamental in Finnic. Such indications, coming together with the hints from history and the arts, are enough to change our view of the Keltic m.ake- up of the Irish. It is the Finno-Ugrian section of mankind which seems to have held Ireland before the Kelts — that section which includes the Hun- garians, Turks, Bulgarians, Finns of Russia and Sweden, Lapps and Uighurs of Central Asia. It was once represented in Asia Minor by the people of Sumir and Accad, plain and moun- tain, who gave to Chaldcea and Assyria their impulse in the arts and sciences, of whose mythology the Old Testament is full. Traces of them exist in nearly every part of Europe : Vol. XXXVII. — 52. in Italy as the basis of the Etruscan nation which furnished the Latins with kings, laws, and religion; in Spain to this day among cer- tain hill-tribes red-haired, short, gray-eyed, slow-witted; in Germany among the Pommer- anians and Courlanders : and in Russia very pure and unadulterate, among the Finns and Lapps. Nor is Great Britain without them, especially in north Scotland and Wales. Im- agine Europe spread thinly with comparatively peace-loving nomads, worshiping the sun and fire, fearing fetiches ; idolaters addicted to certain grave vices, and very crude as regards morality, but on the whole a fine race. Into their scattered tribes penetrate the Kelts with a stronger civilization; active minded; bellige- rent ; more chivalrous to their own women ; given to agriculture, but passionately fond of roving; not skilled in the arts and magical sciences. Imagine these conquering in most countries — only to be split in turn by wedges of Teutons and Slavs. Somewhere in the Ural district, it may be, the Finns escaped slavery from these swarms, and learned to hate and fear their kindred, the Lapps, as sorcerers and guileful folk who met ruse with ruse, as we see them shadowed forth in the runes of the Kalewala. Thus they brought with them to the Baltic the traditions, habits, and customs of a Central Asian race untouched by alien influences. The renown of Finns and Lapps for magic in northern Europe is like that of Britons in Gaul at Caesar's time. When ill, the Tsar Ivan the Terrible sent to Lapland for two witches to cure him. Other branches of the same stock had a like sinister fame, namely the Chaldaeans and Etruscans. The softness of Italian compared with Latin may come from the rise of this soft-spoken stratum of Italy's population during the centuries when education ceased. Thus on all sides are evi- dences of the unity of an underlying race forced to accept other tongues, whose trace can still be pursued in the greatest literary monuments of the world — the Bible, Homer, the Kale- wala, Shah-Nameh, and the epical and legend- ary compositions of the old Gaels. Native historians have left hints of aborigi- nes belonging to this stock, if one burrow beneath the grotesque derivations from Pales- tine, Greece, and Egypt which later fashions, chiefly Christian, have added to the records. Partholon was the first permanent settler, just three hundred years after the Deluge! yet he had to fight hunter and fisher tribes for a lodgment. Curiously enough, in the name of these aborigi- nal tribes there is a Ugrian touch. Their ruler was descended, we learn, from a king of the Ughmor mountains, which Eugene O'Curry calls the ancient Gaelic name for the Caucasus ! The Cyclopean fort on the Arann Islands, ofl" 378 PAGAN IRELAND. Galway, was built by a son of Ughmor, fa- mous for his poisoned spear, — a trait of vari- ous hated foes of the Gaels,—- and a Fomorian, or sea-robber, of the race that fortified Tory Island, on the north coast. The name is Uighur if the m is softened into a w according to Ga- elic practice. This is a fair hint that the Fomo- rians, in whom Professor de Jubainville sees little more than a fabulous race of night and fog demons, have at least some historical reality to stand on. Tory Island has been supposed to get its name from its "tors," or pinnacles of rock, or from " tory," a robber. We can now perceive, however, a likelier origin for the word, whether applied to the island or to the bands of political refugees and malcontents who fled to the bogs of Ulster in troubled times. We find in the Kalewala that Turya was a name for Lapland, or the country of wizards where the Kaleva heroes go to beat the Lapps in magic, and also, singularly enough, to get their brides. Tory Island may well have gained its name when the Finno-Ugrians still spoke their old tongue in Ireland. There, it now appears, they held out as Fomorians — perhaps Fer-Ughmor, Uighur- men — against the Gaels, until dislodged with fearful sacrifice of men on both sides. Then arose the ill-fame of Tory Island for witch- craft and pirates. Then it must have been that the word "tory" became fixed in the Irish language as a synonym for robber. In Asia war has gone on for ages between the Aryans of Iran and the Turks of Turan. In Ireland a similar warfare existed; but it ended ages ago in the obliteration and ab- sorption of the nomads. The great battles of Tura- Plain,— which many think historical, oth- ers fabulous, — what are they but campaigns in the warfare of Aryan against Turanian fought at the extreme west of Europe ? The very names are the same. Archaeologists have been deterred from seeing this merely because in the last century men made bold guesses, and in trying to work them out landed, through lack of evidence, in obvious absurdities. It is time to examine with composure even the writings of General Vallancey, and give that much-abused archaeologist credit wherever it is deserved. This clue in hand, we can explore many labyrinths of Ireland's past hitherto unthread- able. Startling resemblances between old Irish and Hebrew customs, which caused native writers to assert direct emigrations from Pales- tine, are explainable through ideas coming to the Jews from Chaldseans and those coming to the Kelts from their Ugrian ancestors. The bloody and horrible rites of Phenicians found again in Ireland do not mean a colony from. Carthage, but result from like traditions among ancient men of the same stock living far apart. It explains many things in the arts and archi- tecture of the island. The pagan literature of Ireland may be di- vided provisionally in^ an earlier and a later epoch. The earlier may be called the " Mab- Cuchulinn" period, to which most of the ex- travagant giant and fairy stories with traits like those in the Finnic Kalewala may be as- signed. In the feast of Bricriu Poison-tongue, the hero Cuchulinn appears under the most savage aspect. He cuts down harmless work- ingmen nine at a time out of pure deviltry, strolls through the country on head-hunting tours like a Dyak of Borneo, demands the daughters of his temporary hosts for his pleas- ure, meets a princess and carries her off, stops the enchanted spea^r of her father by magic, and is cursed by him to wander till he can solve certain riddles. In doing so he combats goblins and sea-witches, who are counterparts of Grendel of the Marshes and Grendel's mother in the Anglo-Saxon lay of Beowulf. Queen Meave, or Mab, and her husband Ailil are the royal persons round whom many extravagant stories revolve. They seem to belong to the fairy race Danann, while the champion Cuch- ulinn is their enemy, appearing to be a Fir- bolg. Keltic traits exist in plenty, but many features are Finnic, after the spirit of the Kale- wala. Cuchulinn fights the whole army and court of Meave, just as Wainamoinen and his fellow-heroes proceed alone to cope with the magic and armed bands of Louhi, the fell host- ess of Pohjola. The later pagan ballads we will call the Fion-Oisin cycle, because Fion, or Find, the hero round whom the adventures of the Fenian troops have crystallized, is generally the chief actor or singer, while very often the words are put in the mouth of Oisin, his son, the Ossian of Macpherson's late Gaelic poems. Here belong the ballads in which Oisin, a revenant from the Land of Eternal Youth at the time of St. Patrick, recites to him the ad- ventures of the Fenians with a rumble of hatred against bell, book, priests, and hymns which is extremely humorous and diverting. The doings and sayings of Fion are only a lit- tle less Finnic than those of Cuchulinn. There is the same invincibility through magical arts, the swords that kill of themselves, the harness dipped in poison to make it spear-proof. As one reads the Kalewala in the recent transla- tion by Dr. J. M. Crawford : Mother dear, my gray-haired mother^ Wilt thou straightway wash my linen In the blood of poisoned serpents, In the black blood of the adder? I must hasten to the combat, To the campfires of the Northland, To the battlefields of Lapland. A FIRE OPAL. 379 There is the same bold wooing and violent abduction of brides, and restoration of wounded heroes by magical means. The methods of the physician partook of the practice of Sibe- rian shamajis or Indian medicine-men, though the profession stood very high when learning flourished in Ireland and languished else- where. In one tract we read how the learned Fionin (little Fion) is called to heal a chief who has been badly wounded, but an enemy has secretly bribed his attendant to put certain objects in the wounds, which have healed over. Fionin approaches the wicker house with four pupils, the number to which he is legally en- titled, and hears three groans in succession from this Irish Philoktetes. " What groan is that ? " asks Fionin of his first pupil. " It is from a poisoned barb." "And what groan is that ? " he demands of the second scholar. " It is from a hidden reptile." " And what groan is that ? " " It is from a poisoned seed," answers pupil number three. Fionin then enters and cuts open the wounds, extracts from one a poisoned barb, from an- other a reptile, from a third a seed, and the chief gets well. This is evidence that the native doctor used the same jugglery we find among the Indians when the medicine-man pretends to extract some object from his patient and by so doing often encourages him back to health. Customs that have hardly disappeared from Finland and Ireland, or are fresh in tradition, existed in both countries, such as putting chil- dren out to fosterage, blood-brotherhood,— a rite whereby champions bound themselves closer than by natural ties of birth, — keening and waking the dead, domestic slavery, burial of objects to help the spirit on its w^ay, tools and weapons of bronze, and utensils of wood much the same in shape. Morality of a very lax type among chiefs and of a higher sort among peasants is alike found, as well as a confusion between the human being and ani- mals—each and all traits and resemblances which would mean little taken separately, but which aid materially the argument when all the other similarities are considered. But a fuller statement of the manners and customs, the myths and legends, which point to a vanished Turanian race in Ireland must be deferred for the present. I hope to show that in one way or another many puzzling points in the history of Ireland and the char- acter of her people can be solved by means of this key. Charles de Kay. mf